Not Not-Human Book Two: All Hail the Time Lord's Son
by Forensica X
Summary: Follow Harry Potter-Tyler, his family, and friends as they embark on their second year in the wizarding world and at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The Doctor and Rose, newly hired as Hogwarts professors, do their best to help Harry navigate the mystery of his decidedly odd circumstances as forces for both ill and good conspire against him.
1. With a Little Help From My Friends

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated.

A/N: Here you go! Real life is starting back up again, so I may have to start posting weekly or bi-weekly rather than the insane pace I set for the last book. Thanks for your continued interest and for taking the time to read.

* * *

_**Not Not-Human Book Two: All Hail the Time Lord's Son**_

Chapter One – With a Little Help from My Friends

* * *

_**5 July 2013**_

"Tyler!"

Harry twisted and hopped nimbly over the tangle of players and rushed right to meet Swami's wall-pass. He took it up the field, managed to avoid several tackles and performed a scissor kick to launch the ball just past the goalkeeper's outstretched hands.

The sidelines erupted with the cries of several parents and friends. That was it. They'd won. Harry grinned as his teammates, boys he counted as close acquaintances from his time at Homefield Prep and from around his neighbourhood, enveloped him in excited shouts, pats on the back, and hugs.

It wasn't the company he craved, however. As nice as these blokes were, they weren't really his _friends_. They would not have phoned him to play today at all if Danny Brookes hadn't concussed himself the night before in his attempt to perform an ollie off a flight of stairs. But, despite his best wishes and many requests to Hedwig, he hadn't heard anything from the people he'd thought were his first true friends in the world.

Hermione, he knew, had an excuse, as her mum and dad had taken her to visit France for the first part of the summer Holidays. He hadn't really expected to hear much from her, but to hear nothing at all bothered him. She'd promised to send him postcards, and he'd written three times already.

Draco, he understood, because their relationship required a certain level of subtlety because of the boy's infamous father. Daphne and Neville, on the other hand, had no excuse, or so Harry thought.

"Good job, darling!" his grandma Jackie called as he approached the edge of the field.

She waved him forward and enveloped him in a warm hug marked by the scent of her perfume and slight stiffness of her dark plum linen summer suit. Harry's grandfather Pete clapped him on the shoulder and grinned from ear to ear.

"Bang up job, mate," he said, ruffling Harry's hair.

The cameras flashed. Gramps was coming up for re-election after all. He had most of the house's favour after a very successful first few years, but there had been enough movement to call for a new election as a very convincing conservative candidate had arisen with the help of social media, which his granddad had a little trouble adapting to (partially in overreaction to the world's reliance on it). Harry didn't mind very much. The magical world needed a non-magical president really _in-the-know_ for what was to come.

So Harry smiled and went along with the media frenzy as the news reporter asked his granddad questions about this and that (mostly inane topics that had nothing to do with Pete's platform) while Jackie doted on her grandson.

"So, how long are you home from school?" she asked as she handed Harry a banana ice cream with pralines on top.

"'Till September first, though that sort of depends on if I hear back from my schoolmates. They were talking about a trip to one of their villas."

"Well, just as long as we get to spend some proper time together. Last summer it was like I hardly got to see you, and however much fun I had on my cruise, Christmas just wasn't the same without you."

Harry smiled and nodded and kept up the pretence of happiness until his grandparents deposited him back home. After he'd waved goodbye and kissed his gran twice, Harry shut the door and fell dejectedly into the hammock pitched across the corner of the sitting room without even bothering to take off his footie kit.

It was in this position the Doctor and Rose discovered their son when they returned home from a day's work at Torchwood and Unit, respectively.

"You've got dirt all over my hammock," Rose said softly as she brushed the fringe out of Harry's face.

The boy woke with a start and sat up so quickly he nearly headbutted her. She laughed and ducked out the way.

"Took a bit of a kip?"

"Yeah. It was a good game. I just got so tired when I got home."

"You don't make it sound like it was any good," the Doctor commented as he entered with an odd contraption in hand.

"Yeah, well, I still haven't heard from anybody. What's that?" Harry asked, blinking and rubbing his eyes.

"Timey-wimey detector. It goes 'bing!' and it can boil an egg at thirty paces."

The little device, which looked like an amalgamation of several other appliances sacrificed for the Doctor's needs, obligingly went _bing!_

"Right. Why do you need it?"

"If magic is time energy manipulated around flux points and bent to the will of wizard or part Time Lords, this–" he waved the contraption, "Will help us pinpoint when it happens around us when we're not causing it."

"We've been hiring post owls all week to try and send you post," Rose cut in. "None of them are getting to you, but the letters are registering as delivered, so where are they going?"

"Also, there's suspected Angel activity," the Doctor said grimly. "Which isn't good, because I thought there weren't any at all in this universe, but I suppose that was just wishful thinking."

Harry perked up immediately.

"So you think they _have_ been sending me letters? I've just not gotten them?"

The Doctor grinned.

"Exactly."

"I've got to floo-call Neville!"

Rose and the Doctor smiled after their son as he leapt from the hammock and rushed to the empty fireplace. A quick _incendio_ and a healthy sprinkle of floo powder later, Harry connected with Longbottom Manor and Dippy, the Longbottom head house elf, peered down at him as he looked out of the fire.

"Young Master Harry!" she squeaked. "Dippy is very glad to see you, Sir! Little Lord Neville is very put out Young Master Harry hasn't written back to him."

"That's what I was flooing for, Dippy. Is Neville free? Can I talk to him?"

Dippy nodded and her floppy, bat-like ears waggled happily.

"Dippy is very pleased to help," she said, but before she could duck out of sight to fetch Harry's friend, a shy smile came over her face.

"Dippy is wondering, is Little Miss Jenny well? Dippy has not had the opportunity to call, and felt awkward trying to contact Master Harry since he was not answering his letters."

"Of course you can come over!" Harry assured her. "My sister's mad about you. She's staying at a friend's house until tomorrow, though, so why don't you have Neville floo me again, then, to ask when?"

"Dippy would like that very much!" the little elf cried. "Dippy will fetch Little Lord, now."

Harry barely had to wait before Neville skid around the corner of the drawing room and raced to sit where Harry didn't have to crane his neck so badly to see him.

"Hi Neville!" he grinned.

"Harry!" the boy cried, beaming. "I got worried when you didn't respond to any of my letters. I mean, I still got yours, but they were like you'd never seen mine."

"I haven't. Something's messing with my mail. Dad's working on it. In the meantime, how are you?"

"Good. Just bored… Why didn't you floo earlier?"

Harry tried not to blush.

"I just didn't think of it," he lied.

Neville smiled in easy understanding, and Harry felt doubly grateful to have the boy as his friend.

"Listen, I told my gran your birthday's just after mine, and she was wondering if you'd like to celebrate together."

"Sure," Harry agreed. "What do you normally do?"

Neville's face fell just a little.

"Well, on my birthday morning, I usually go to see my parents at Saint Mungo's. Then it's generally a quiet luncheon at home with my great aunt and uncle."

Harry grimaced and Neville grinned apologetically.

"Do you think your gran would mind me meeting your parents, too? Your mum's my godmother, after all."

The blonde boy smiled appreciatively.

"She'd love that. What about for the celebration?"

"Why don't you come over? We can have dinner here with both our families, and you can spend the night. We can do something in town on the thirty-first and stay in London, then do our school shopping and floo you back home on the first."

The boys set to plotting, and Harry left the fireplace with the promise Neville would ask his grandmother about their joint birthday celebrations. Harry, in the meantime, jerked his head out of the fireplace and lay, a little dizzy, on the hearth as excitement began to bubble in his system.

"Mum!" he shouted from the floor.

"I'm just in the kitchen, not in Antarctica," she called back. "What is it?"

"Is your offer to do a birthday thing in London still on the table?"

Rose laughed, and Harry thought he heard his dad say something around the lines of –

"What's he think? That we're going to offer and then tell him we're joking?"

"Of course, sweetheart. Why? What did Neville say?"

Harry, finally over his vertigo, sat up and trotted into the kitchen. He happily accepted the fish finger sandwich his dad had assembled for him and slid onto a barstool.

"He said he'd ask his gran about it. I asked if I could visit his mum and dad with him, if he didn't mind, since we're sort of related-ish."

"That was very good of you, Harry," the Doctor said gently. "It's not easy to love a sick person, alone. And I'm sure Alice Longbottom would have been wonderful to you if she had ever gotten the chance."

Rose took the remaining fish finger sandwich and grimaced as the Doctor poured half a carton of custard into a bowl and proceeded to dip his sandwich in it.

"That's revolting," Harry muttered, staring at his father with interest.

"Absolutely," Rose groaned.

"Gorgeous," the Doctor disagreed. "I think the other me must have regenerated. I've been having odd cravings lately."

"Well, I hope it stops soon. That's just foul-looking."

"Oi, don't knock it until you try."

Somehow, they all ended up dipping their sandwiches in the gooey yellowish stuff, and Harry hated to admit it, but fish fingers and custard really _was_ delightful.

* * *

_**18 July 2013**_

Rose rather loved Dippy the house elf. The Saturday following Harry's first floo call to Neville, the enthusiastic little maid's head appeared in their fireplace and Jenny promptly began begging to have her friend over. Rose hadn't known what she'd let herself in for, but she couldn't help but feel extremely glad she granted her permission.

Dippy immediately popped over and played with Jenny until she nearly fell over from exhaustion. Even after Jenny curled up in the hammock for her nap, Rose was amazed to find the little elf refused to leave, rather choosing to bustle about the house cleaning until the little girl woke up again.

To top it off, Dippy very discreetly posted Harry's mail and brought back a letter each from Hermione, Daphne and Draco. When they noticed the new post the morning after, Dippy would hardly accept their thanks and praise.

"Dippy is very, very happy to help Little Miss Jenny and Young Master Harry's family. Dippy loves Little Miss very much."

But this was not the most extraordinary experience they would encounter with the friendly elf.

That Friday quickly moved out of the normal range of strangeness when Harry woke to find a pair of large, tennis-ball green eyes staring down at him. He had drawn his wand and sat up before he could even conjure a coherent thought, and felt badly as soon as he pushed his glasses onto his face.

A very thin house elf wearing an abysmally dirty pillowcase shrank away from Harry as several emotions warred for dominance on his slightly grey face.

"Dobby is sorry to wake Master Harry Potter, but Dobby had no recourse," the elf said in a tremulous voice.

Harry put his wand back under his pillow and frowned at the intruder.

"That's alright. I just wish you had knocked instead of sitting on me. I was a bit startled."

Dobby smiled nervously.

"Dobby apologizes, but Dobby had to come in the utmost secrecy," he whispered, his eyes widening. The elf crawled forward, his knobby little hands clasped in a pleading gesture. "Dobby must tell you Harry Potter must not go to school this year."

Harry blinked. This was either a very elaborate prank or the first sign in a series of very stressful events similar to last year's fiasco. He really hated old bearded wizards for a moment.

"You're not coming to me from Dumbledore, are you?" he asked warily. "Is he trying to ensure I come by ensnaring me with some horrible mystery?"

The elf's face puckered and he twisted his hands.

"Dobby is not lying. And Dobby does not work for Headmaster Dumblydore."

"Then who _do_ you work for?" Harry frowned.

Dobby stared at his knees and his lower lip jutted as it began trembling.

"Hey," the boy said, pulling the miserable creature to his chest in a hug. "Don't cry. I won't tell your masters you came to me. I just want to know what's going on."

"Dobby is trying so hard! Dobby only wants to protect Little Master Draco and his only friend! But Dobby's master–"

The elf made a horrible choking sound and launched himself out of Harry's arms to beat his head against the footboard, cursing himself all the while. The boy stared in horror and surprise before he managed to disengage from his covers and pull the elf bodily away from the end of the bed.

The door burst open just as Harry folded the inconsolable elf in his arms.

"It went _bing!"_ the Doctor yelled, holding his detector aloft as he stared about. "And Jen's fast asleep and Dippy's not due for another four hours. Was it you?"

"It was probably him," Harry said, nodding to the wriggling bundle of flesh and panic.

"What are you doing to him? Is that another house elf?"

The Doctor pushed his glasses up his nose and strolled over to sit on the edge of the bed.

"He was punishing himself," Harry said helplessly. "I think he's still trying."

"Oi, none of that," the Doctor murmured, pulling a now limp elf from Harry's arms. "Have you been borrowing Harry's letters–"

"Dobby," Harry supplied.

"Dobby," the Doctor smiled.

"Dobby hoped that if Harry Potter thought he had no friends in the wizarding world, he would not want to go back to Hogwarts," the elf mumbled miserably.

"That's rather unkind, Dobby. I'm disappointed," the Doctor scolded gently.

"'Tis better than the alternative. Dobby knows… Dobby knows there are horrible things afoot. Harry Potter will be in great danger if he goes to school this year."

"Is it really that bad?" Harry frowned. "If you're Draco's elf, you probably heard what happened last year. It can't be worse than that."

Dobby sobbed and twisted his ears. The Doctor carefully unwrapped the house elf's fingers and held his hands.

"Oh, please, Masters, Dobby cannot say! Please just heed Dobby's warning and stay away."

"Alright, you've warned us."

"Probably at great personal risk if he's Lucius's elf," Harry muttered. "Draco says he's awful to their staff."

"Call it what it is, Harry. Slaves. Lucius is horrible to his slaves."

Harry looked away from Dobby's miserable face. His gut twisted. Dobby shuddered.

"Dobby must go, please. Dobby's master will be very cross if he notices Dobby missing."

"Okay, Dobby." The Doctor allowed the little elf to wriggle free to stare up at them in fear and concern. "Do you mind giving Harry his letters? Message received and all that."

"Dobby only wanted to help," the elf whimpered as he pulled a thick stack of envelopes from his pillowcase. "Dobby remembers how it was before He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Sirs. House elves were treated like vermin, Sirs. Please don't go to Hogwarts this year, Sirs."

With that, the elf popped away. The Doctor's machine _ding_ed.

* * *

_**30 July 2013**_

Hospitals, it is to be said, always resemble one another, even if one has wards named after stodgy old board members and the other for Spell Damage and Artefact Accidents. Harry, dressed in sedate, light grey robes, and his family, similarly uniformed, immediately saw the similarities once they got past the dusty shop front and the lime green healers' robes.

The reception room they entered overflowed with witches and wizards sporting all manner of magical ailments as they waited in spindly wooden chairs. One woman's head was shrunken so small Harry could hardly tell it was there. Another wizard scratched at an impressive horn growing rapidly, and crookedly, out of his head. A little wizard covered in green pustules cried and complained to his mother, who had spello-taped his hands inside a pair of mittens to keep him from scratching. And, like any good hospital, it smelled of everyone's go-to disinfectant: in this case, Mrs Scower's All Purpose Magical Mess Remover

A healer bustled up to them, a clipboard in hand and a do-not-mess-about expression on her face.

"Injured, ill or visiting?" she said without preamble.

"We're here to visit Alice and Frank Longbottom?" Rose offered as she scanned the gold sign tacked to a wall. "We're supposed to meet Madam Augusta Longbottom and her grandson at the Janus Thickey Ward."

"Ah. The Longbottoms. I'm afraid we only admit family to the Janus Thickey ward, for the safety of our patients and the public–"

Harry stepped forward as his dad squeezed his shoulder.

"Yes, ma'am. You see, Alice Longbottom is my godmother. She would have raised me if not for what happened, and I never got to meet her. I was hoping to come see her, since tomorrow's my birthday and she fought so hard with people like my father and mother to make sure I could _have_ more birthdays."

The healer did a double take as her steely eyes focused on Harry's upturned face. She pursed her lips and sighed.

"Well, go on then, young Mr Potter. Of course, I couldn't deny you a visit to your godmother. Fourth floor, Permanent Spell Damage. Give your name to the orderly and wait in the reception room for Madam and Mr Longbottom to show you in."

"Thank you," the Doctor said as he corralled Jenny into moving forward.

They found the main staircase with little difficulty and began the trek upstairs. Signs posted every so often advertised healer-approved potioners and apothecaries, or wiggled with health tips.

_A Clean Cauldron Keeps Potions from becoming Poisons!_

_Antidotes are Anti-Don'ts Unless Approved by a Certified Healer!_

_A Wand in a Child's Hands is a Recipe for Disaster!_

_Remember the Three Ts! Teach safety, Take precautions & Tell a Healer if all else fails!_

_Dragon Pox are Highly Dangerous to Older Children! Vaccinate your Infant Today!_

Rose paused at the last one just as they mounted the fourth floor landing.

"Perhaps we should take the time to check if they have any real records here on you sometime this summer. You might need a whole set of vaccinations we never knew about," she muttered.

The Doctor made a face. Harry groaned.

"Sorry, chap."

The Janus Thickey ward already looked less hospital-y than the rest of the floors they'd passed. The small sitting area held several well-worn sofas and armchairs. Several abused board games sat stacked beneath a large coffee table that bore many years' worth of water rings and tea stains. A young healer sat behind a small desk by the heavy wooden door bearing a plaque of the ward's name and a very large man poised on the spindly chair by her.

"May I help you?" the witch asked pleasantly.

"We're here to visit Mr and Mrs Longbottom," the Doctor smiled. "But don't worry about us just yet. We're still expecting Neville and Madam Longbottom."

"Madam Longbottom has arrived, Mr Smith," a regal voice announced.

Jenny smiled and rushed to hug Augusta about the knees as she mounted the landing. The imposing woman smiled beneath her vulture hat and patted the little girl's shoulder.

"Hi Auntie Gussie!"

"Hello again, dear. How are you?"

"Very well, thanks. Mummy says Neville's coming to stay over tonight and tomorrow. Thank you! Harry's usually so boring on his birthdays!"

The adults in the room, healer and orderly included, laughed indulgently.

"Hi Neville. Happy birthday," Harry said as his friend emerged behind his grandmother.

The boy grimaced at him and Harry braced his shoulder.

"I am most pleased Neville thought to tell you about Alice and my dear Frank. It's only right you boys pay your respects. They sacrificed everything so that you may live in this peaceful era."

Neville and Harry exchanged a look at that and tried very hard not to look guilty as Augusta led the way into the ward. Bright sunshine streamed through the large bay window inside the ward and cheery, soft green paint brightened the walls. A woman covered in fur barked twice as they entered before rolling over in her bed. Neville stiffened next to Harry, and he followed his friend's gaze.

The woman was so pale Harry had missed her before as he surveyed the room. Her hair, probably once the same sandy blonde colour of her son's, had faded to white, almost translucent wisps that hung lankly around her head. Her blue eyes seemed too large for her thin, weathered face. Seated as she was beneath the bay window and the bright sunshine, she was easy to miss. The light bathed her so completely as to make her invisible.

"Oh, Alice," Madam Longbottom sighed a little wearily. "What are you doing down there, dear?"

She bustled forward and helped the faintly smiling woman to stand up while she levitated a cushy armchair beneath the window for her. Harry heard her hum absently as she took her seat again.

"May I ask how long..?" the Doctor asked quietly.

"Eleven years in November," the woman replied shortly. "They were so very gifted, the both of them. I worried Neville had not inherited their talents, but happily…"

She smiled and squeezed her grandson's shoulder.

"They would have been proud."

"I'm sure they are," Rose assured Neville, who had begun looking at his feet again.

"Yes…" the older woman said a little distractedly. "Neville? Why don't you introduce Harry to his godmother and your father?"

The Doctor helpfully conjured an odd coloured cushioned bench beside Alice's chair and the boys shuffled forward. Alice looked up and past them as they sat and slipped a hand into the pocket of her white cotton nightdress. She withdrew a single piece of Drooble's Best Blowing gum, clumsily unwrapped it, and popped the sweet into her mouth and the wrapper back in her pocket.

"Hi, Mum," Neville whispered. He looked over at Harry apologetically. "This is Harry Potter. Lily Potter's son. We're best mates at school…"

Harry smiled at Alice.

"Neville saved my life last year," he said in an undertone. "Helped me escape from that dark wanker."

Neville choked and his head whipped around to check for his grandmother, but the matriarch was engaged with Jenny and the Doctor on the other side of the ward.

"Your son's amazing," Harry continued. "He seemed almost as afraid as I felt, but he still charged in there and kept me from getting murdered."

"That's not how I remember it," Neville grumbled. "Anyway, Mum, I wanted to bring him here because, well… I don't know, it felt right."

He stared at his hands.

"I'm so rubbish at this," he sighed. "I thought it would be easier with you here, Harry, but I still don't know what to say."

"She's your mum," Harry shrugged. "You don't have to say anything. She obviously loves you very much."

The woman had stopped humming and extended the sweets wrapper to her son. Neville smiled weakly and accepted the bit of wax paper.

"You know," he said after a short while. "Ever since we faced You-Know-Who in that chamber, I've been really angry."

Harry gave him a wry look.

"I mean, angrier than when we found that stupid mirror. Why my parents?"

"I don't know," Harry replied. "They probably did. But most likely, it is just as simple as your Gran said."

"But it's not, is it?" Neville clenched his hands into fists and sat straighter. "If he's still out there, it means the war isn't really over. He'll try again, and most of his followers got away with it. If he comes back, we'll be right back where our parents were. Stuck in the middle of a war."

"That reminds me," Harry groaned. "I got a visit from a mad house-elf."

"What?"

"Draco's elf, except he wasn't supposed to be there and none of the Malfoys seemed to have known about it. He was warning me about some nefarious plot."

"That's exactly what I mean!" Neville hissed. "What was it all for? We're only kids! How are we supposed to deal with this when they…"

Harry gave his hunched friend a one-armed hug as he struggled to hold back tears.

"Sorry," he whispered. "I'm pretty rubbish at emotional stuff, too. I didn't mean to upset you. And we'll make it right. I promise, Nev. We will. That's why I'm sticking around. My dad always tells me you can't count on someone else to save the day for you. You've got to do it yourself. That's who we'll be. We'll fix everything that didn't get fixed last time. I mean, what else could we do? As I understand it, we're both going to be magically created peers when we're of age."

Neville gave his friend a watery grin.

"C'mon. I'll introduce you to Dad."

Overall, it was a miserable visit, though Neville said he was glad Harry came with him. There were a few highlights.

The Doctor and Rose sat a long while with Alice, holding either of her hands while she hummed, and Rose recognized the tune. This, of course, led to the Doctor rushing out to buy an old crank-up record player, which he brought back along with several Beatles albums. He instructed the orderly in the record player's operation and soon Alice beamed as she hummed a little off-beat to "Something." Augusta blushed at what she considered 'overly graphical' lyrics, but did not protest as Alice curled up next to Frank on their oversized hospital bed.

They all decided to leave on that note, Augusta and Neville in tow as they returned to the floo downstairs (as the Tylers had taken a taxi to reach the hospital, earlier, having no idea whether they _could_ floo directly in) and departed for Harry's home.

The boys and Jenny went first, but to Neville's astonishment, the floo dropped them in the most bizarre room he had ever seen.

The whole room seemed to be constructed of cheery, yellowish panelling and sweeping, graceful beams supporting a bright, vaulted ceiling through which flecks of emerald light filtered to bathe them all with honeyed warmth. It was Circular windows of orange and yellow stained glass, enclosed by swirling vine wood, glinted merrily in the early afternoon sunlight. Most peculiarly, the beams did not seem carved or even held in place by any visible structure; rather, they seemed to grow from the very floor itself, which was comprised of an unbroken swirl of smooth, polished wood that ended just before the far wall's edge, where an opening in the floor revealed an equally organic looking spiral staircase leading downward.

Augusta stepped out of the fireplace and stared about with open surprise. She turned to Harry's parents as soon as they strolled out of the green flames.

"This is lovely, but I can't imagine this is your home, Mr and Mrs Smith," she quipped.

"Where are we?" Neville asked, peeping through the nearest window.

"You'll see!" Jenny crowed. She ran down the stairs and out of sight.

"Apologies, Gussie," the Doctor said with a grin. "Kind of like your home, we've set the floos for one-way travel. This is our only entry point for apparition, floo, or portkey, so we decided to keep it separate from the main house."

Neville broke into a wide grin as he turned to Harry.

"This is the tree house!" he exclaimed.

"Yup."

"Tree house?" Augusta murmured. "How very odd."

Harry smiled and began the tour as he led the way down the sweeping staircase.

"Dad and I have been experimenting since he got home. This room was my idea, based on what Dad told me about his old transport and what I saw in the Hufflepuff common room."

Augusta raised an eyebrow and Neville giggled.

"They've all but adopted him, Gran. He spent a whole weekend figuring out how to get in, and since Hermione vouched for him, he's been there loads of time since."

Harry shrugged.

"I made it harder than it should have been. Too vain to get sprayed with vinegar. Anyway, Dad's gotten really good at transfiguring wood. He found that if the tree's still growing, he can use runes and spellwork to make it maintain the transfiguration without drawing on his magic. It looks like it's grown because it _is_ grown. There's not a fastener here at all. The trick was splicing different plant cuttings into the design to get the scrolling vines."

"It's amazing," Neville breathed.

The level below the sitting room seemed to be some sort of potions lab. The windows were larger and oddly shaped but made from what appeared to be the bottoms of old yellow and green bottles in varying shades. A long workbench stretched around the edge of the room wherever the staircase wasn't, holding wracks of glass phials, a large glass cauldron with a matching lid, several non-magical appliances, and, for some odd reason, a rubber mallet.

"Very impressive work, Mr Smith," Augusta said appreciatively. "Although, this last room is most unusual."

They had reached the original floor with the familiar high definition screen and beanbag chairs. Now, however, round wooden trays floated at seated height near each beanbag (which were all shades of warm brown leather as opposed to the house-oriented ones at Hogwarts), and An odd panel floated near the television covered in buttons, toggles and dials.

"This is how we communicate most often with the kids at school," Rose explained. "One afternoon the Doctor was just sitting in here, working, and the screen came on and Harry was there, staring back at us."

"How extraordinary," Augusta mused. "How is such a feat achieved? I thought floo was the only method of communication other than post with Hogwarts students."

"There's this room," Harry supplied. "We just stumbled across it early during our first term. I was missing my parents. The house elf that takes care of the Slytherin first years, Cuddie, later told me they call it the come-and-go room."

"It gives you whatever you want," Neville added. "You just have to focus on your specific need and there it is. We even made it give us a swimming pool, once."

"Gracious." The old woman smiled faintly. "I daresay you're getting into even more than your father did at school. I'm amazed you haven't gotten into trouble with Minnie, yet."

Harry and Neville tried not to look guilty, or look at each other at all for fear of laughing.

"We are, too. There have been a few close shaves," Harry finally managed.

"Anyway," the Doctor said, bouncing ahead of his guests. "I'm sure everyone will be pleased to know I've installed a secret lift, so we don't have to use the ladder unless you really want to."

"Since when?" Harry laughed.

Rose rolled her eyes.

"He was up all night doing it, and woke me up at half past four to show me."

"I needed someone non-magical to test it on," he pouted. "Just in case."

"Right."

The Doctor tapped on the wall just a few feet away from the staircase's end. A panel, previously indistinguishable from the rest of the wall, popped open to reveal a hollow behind it. The Doctor grinned at them all, gestured them forward, and pulled the cord nestled within.

Harry gasped. It was as if they, or the floor, had become no more substantial than air. One moment they were standing on the first floor of the tree house and the next, the lush grass of their garden sprawled underfoot.

"Most delightful," Augusta laughed. "I do say, Mr Smith, I find your fanciful constructions very diverting. And what a beautiful garden you have."

"Wow," Neville agreed. "Mrs Smith, have you taken up herbology?"

"I have. I can't use a wand or spells, but I'm fairly good at the more physical aspects of magic," she said a little proudly. "I've got a wonderful growth of flutterby bushes and moonvine."

They continued on toward the house, and Neville delighted in naming all the new magical additions to the garden on the way. In the brief time since Harry returned to Hogwarts after Christmas, Rose and the Doctor had been experimenting with every aspect of magic they could touch. Now, nearly every room in the house held something extraordinary, and the garden and tree house stood as a testament to everything else they had learned. Jenny waited for them just inside the doorway to the games room, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"What took you so long?" she complained. "Dippy's already started on dinner."

"Oh, I wish she wouldn't" the Doctor frowned, turning to Augusta. "I wanted to make the boys something special."

"She'll allow you to help," the matriarch laughed. "But I doubt you'll get her to leave you to it. Believe you me, I have tried many a time. Eventually, I just gave up."

"She's wonderful," Rose said. "And she's amazing with Jenny," she added in an undertone as the little girl ran off again.

Rose and the Doctor led the woman into the sitting room, leaving the boys to their own devices. Harry smiled and continued the tour, ending with his own bedroom, where he and Neville would be sleeping (since the only spare bedroom left after the Doctor converted the others to a lab and library, respectively, belonged exclusively to Tony, who visited often to get away from 'society life'). Dippy had already brought Neville's small suitcase and left it by the three floor-to-ceiling, wall of bookshelves on the left side of the room from the door.

"And this is where you'll sleep," Harry said as he pushed on a section of the centre bookshelf.

Neville gaped as an arched portion of shelving rotated out of sight. It other side created an arched alcove in which a cushy daybed littered with cushions nestled. Naked light bulbs hanging from the alcove's rounded ceiling flickered to life as soon as the section clicked into place.

"Your house is brilliant, Harry," Neville said. "Amazing."

"Mum says Dad's really a ten year old stuck in a grown-up's body. He goes a little mad when we remodel."

"So, did he just..?"

"I don't like studying at a desk really, and Dad said I should never mix my sleeping place with my studying place, so he built me a 'reading nook.'"

"_That's_ a reading nook?"

"Like I said. He goes a bit mad."

Neville laughed and tucked his suitcase into the open storage beneath the daybed.

"Thanks for having me over. Honestly, my birthday's usually really dull."

"It's no problem, Nev. So is mine. I've always been the odd one at school, you know? So no one ever came over."

"Thanks, anyway. This is going to be brilliant, even if Great Auntie Enid and Great Uncle Algie are still coming over for dinner."

Harry grinned.

"Dad's got a surprise in store for you all. He doesn't know I know, but I caught him tinkering the other day."

"I hope it's not _too_ lively. Auntie Enid's got a nervous disposition."

Both boys held their somewhat serious looks for all of two seconds before bursting into laughter. Neville may not have known the Doctor as well as Harry, but he knew that much at least: He never did anything by halves, and definitely didn't do _not_ lively.

* * *

A/N: I hope you liked chapter one of _All Hail the Time Lord's Son_. Thanks for taking the time to read and review, especially those of you who have commented every single chapter since the beginning of this undertaking.

I shall be posting chapters as I finish them, but expect an update by next Tuesday at the latest.

Love,

Forensica X


	2. Adventures at Twelve Years Old

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated.

A/N: Here you go! Real life is starting back up again, so I may have to start posting weekly or bi-weekly rather than the insane pace I set for the last book. Thanks for your continued interest and for taking the time to read.

* * *

_**Not Not-Human Book Two: All Hail the Time Lord's Son**_

Chapter Two – Adventures at Twelve Years Old

* * *

A look back on Neville's birthday, Harry's birthday and London trip, Sky Park, Diagon Alley, the Train to Hogwarts

_**30 July – 1 August 2013**_

As it so happened, Great Uncle Algie and Great Auntie Enid, despite their great ages of 142 and 115, respectively, fortunately possessed just the sense of humour the Doctor approved of. Otherwise, the explosion that splattered them all with robin's-egg-blue frosting and sumptuous angel food cake _might_ have steered the birthday tea a little off course. Still, the entire affair teetered between highly entertaining and nerve wracking for a number of reasons.

First, every so often, Jenny belched a shower of sparks over the dinner table, which would then bounce and change the colour of whatever they touched – It was later revealed she'd gotten into a package of Dr Fillibuster's Edible, Belchable Sparkler Sweets. Once, when Neville happened to look away from his food, he found his roast duck replaced with half a steak. He looked away again to find a slice of bacon and spinach quiche. When he asked Harry, his friend could only shrug.

"I think Dad was experimenting before Dippy started serving dinner," he said. "Anything could happen."

But the surprises hadn't ended at the rather odd dining experience. When they moved into the sitting room for tea and biscuits, Neville witnessed the most incredible thing he had ever seen.

He had, of course, noticed the large, flat mirror-like thing Harry called a 'telly' mounted on the wall of the sitting room, but what it could do awed and inspired him. As he sat between Harry and Jenny on the largest sofa, the telly came to life and the most extraordinary things came across its screen and cheery music filled the room. A beautiful woman in a jaunty hat wearing _red_ lipstick sat upon a cloud with a large carpetbag and an umbrella with a handle like a bird.

"What a delightful portrait," Great Auntie Enid had said. "But where are all the subjects coming from? Do you have other portraits upstairs?"

"Auntie Enid," Rose said with a mischievous smile, "It's my pleasure to introduce you to the invention non-magical folk call a _film_."

The Doctor and Rose went into a quick explanation of what films were, all while Neville stared in wonder as the tale of Mary Poppins and the Banks family.

"Well," Augusta said when it had finished. "I can't say much for Mrs Banks' singing voice, I cannot help but agree with her sentiments. It is a shame to say, but a married woman has little say in her life, even now. If it weren't for my dear father's trust in me, there was every chance our Neville would have nothing to inherit at all, let alone the roof over our heads."

She smirked.

"My _dear_ cousins the Selwyns certainly attempted to take it from me."

"But you were far too canny for that, sis," Algie croaked. "He still whinges about it."

"And you're sure this Mary Poppins wasn't a witch?" Great Auntie Enid asked, stirring a second shot of brandy into her tea. "Only wizards tidy up with a click of the fingers."

"Yes, very," Rose smiled. "I was mad about the film when I was a kid, so I looked up where Mr Disney got the idea from. There was a very real Mr Banks, just as cross as the one in the story, and his daughter wrote a novel about her childhood."

"Now–" The Doctor clapped his hands together and grinned about at everyone. "How about we open presents?"

"Presents!" Jenny crowed.

The visit ended soon thereafter. Once the boys had unwrapped their birthday gifts and said their thank-yous and what not, Neville's family departed and left the children and Smiths with the promise to meet Augusta on the first of August in Diagon Alley.

Exhausted and stuffed to the brim with pleasant memories and wonderful food, Neville and Harry barely managed to get up the stairs and into bed. Jenny, hyped up as she was on tea and sugar, only made it to half past eight before collapsing on the hammock downstairs.

"What do you think?" Rose whispered as she flipped off the last lights.

The Doctor smiled as he lifted his limp daughter into his arms. He waved a hand at the abandoned teacups and saucers, which sailed gracefully away to slip quietly into the sink, submitting themselves to the tender mercies of an animated scrub brush and dishrag.

"I think everyone had lots of fun," the Doctor replied. "The kids are cream crackered."

Rose smiled as she held open Jenny's bedroom door.

"I don't think Harry's ever enjoyed himself more."

* * *

When Neville woke the next morning, he could scarcely believe the evening before had happened at all. If it weren't for the gifts the Smiths gave him, he wouldn't have. The remote-control mouse Harry gifted him (fitted with a tiny camera and listening device for his snooping needs and adjusted for a magical environment) twirled and squeaked at him when he sat up to step into his slippers.

"Morning," Harry mumbled.

Neville laughed as the boy tossed off his covers. His hair stood up all over, as if someone had rubbed his scalp with a balloon.

"Happy birthday," Neville laughed. "What are we doing today?"

Harry yawned, slid out of bed and put on his glasses in one motion, and started toward his bureau.

"No idea. Mum and Dad planned a surprise."

Neville couldn't imagine what sort of surprise could top last night's festivities, but went along with it, anyway. Certainly, whatever it was, Mr and Mrs Smith seemed very excited about it all through breakfast. On his part, the Gryffindor felt a little naked and nervous without an outer robe over his trousers and short-sleeved, button-up shirt as he, Harry and Jenny sat in the back of the Smith's blue car. Harry, apparently, noticed because he drew him into a conversation as the car sped onto the motorway.

"A few weeks ago, this car wouldn't have fit three of us back here, even though Jen's so tiny."

"Hey!" Jenny complained.

Harry smirked at her.

"You'll grow, eventually."

The little girl stuck her tongue out at him.

"Did you resize it, Mr Smith?"

Harry's dad winked and smiled secretively.

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about. It's technically illegal to magically alter non-magically produced vehicles and items without special dispensation from the Ministry."

Neville smiled shyly.

"We're nearly there," Rose commented. The car slowed and took off ramp into a tunnel lit with electric lights and helpful signs. Excitement radiated off the woman as they turned again at a sign that read _Wimbledon Commons Underground Parking. _

"You're going to love this," she said, bouncing a little in her seat.

"But this just goes to the W-C car park," Jenny pouted. "Are we going to ride in Grandpa's zeppelin?"

The little blue car pulled into a space. The Doctor immediately began pulling badges out of the glove compartment as the children watched in bemusement.

"Nope," Rose grinned. "Everyone out. You'll see soon enough."

The air ship docks, better known as the Wimbledon Sky Palace (or simply Sky Palace, for short), were located on the grounds of Wimbledon Common. A beautiful construction of sparkling glass spires and domes made up the terminal, over which several large air ships idled as passengers boarded and disembarked. Smaller vessels docked at shining steel and glass platforms stretching behind the Palace. Neat gardens overflowing with English roses and other such flora lay at its feet, among which one could ride his or her horse (if so inclined), a golf cart (as was more common), or walk as the zeppelins took off and landed overhead.

The sight overwhelmed Neville just as _Mary Poppins_ had the night before as he and his hosts rode the glass-encased lift from the car park to the top level of the palace (with the help of the Doctor's shining badges).

A pleasant, disembodied voice, not unlike the one he once heard in a Ministry lift, welcomed them as the lift slowed from a quick clip to a graceful stop.

"Level fifteen, First Class concourse. British LuxAir wishes you a pleasant journey!"

Masterfully etched doors slid smoothly open for them and Neville looked everywhere at once. He'd never seen a station like this. There _were_ brass and marble ticketing desks, and seating arranged for reception, but that was all Neville recognized from his few dealings with travel.

International portkey terminals were cramped, with a few spindly chairs to sit in while you waited to stand, elbow-to-elbow, next to crotchety strangers too early in the morning or very late at night. These, after all, were the only times wizards could travel en masse without being noticed for their odd dress or mannerisms leaving a landing platform.

The Sky Palace had seating, but it was comprised of luxurious settees, velvet-upholstered chairs, and marble-topped side tables upon which passengers rest fine china cups of coffee and tea, and, in some cases, sparkling flutes of champagne or colourful cocktails.

On top of all that, every single red-uniformed employee looked like they had been cut from one of Lavender Brown's magazines, as far as Neville could tell.

"This way, kids," Rose instructed, leading them all past the shining desks and glamorous patrons.

Neville and Harry allowed themselves to be dragged along as Jenny rushed to keep up with her parents.

"Something feels different about this place today," Harry whispered as they approached the largest desk at the end of the long room.

The Doctor and Rose presented the badges to the man posted there and commenced a whispered conversation as Neville continued staring around.

"I've heard about zeppelins, Harry, but I never thought I'd ride in one," he said a little hesitantly. "How does it stay up?"

"You know how McGonagall's always on about the type of materials used in transfiguration?"

"Yeah?"

"And how if you transfigured a lump of iron into a fish, it would still sink to the bottom of the tank even if it looked and acted like a fish?"

He nodded.

"That's because a lump of iron's a lot denser than the bits of organic carbon and calcium making up a real fish. The transfigured fish is still made of iron. It still has the properties of iron."

"I'm following," said Neville, confusion clear on his face.

"Well, just like iron's denser than the stuff making up the fish, the air around the zeppelin's denser than what's inside it. So…"

"The zeppelin floats!"

Harry beamed at him. Neville smiled.

"So its basically a big balloon?"

"Yep. With a motor and climate control."

"And we're going to ride in one?"

"Really, I don't know. I gave up trying to guess what my parents are up to ages ago. We once rode a giant worm through an underground station."

"Really?"

"Jallyngorolis named Jeff. Nice chap. A little slimy, though."

Neville decided he never wanted to _really_ know what a Jallyngorolis was. He shuddered a little at the thought.

"Brilliant!" Rose crowed as she turned to the kids.

Harry and Neville watched as the concierge dashed off with their badges in hand. The Doctor rocked on the balls of his feet and practically twinkled as he smiled at them.

"Oh, you're in for a treat, boys," he breathed. "Really wonderful timing, this."

"What?" Jenny begged. "Daddy, please, I don't like surprises!"

"Liar. You love surprises. You're just very impatient."

"That's it! Let's go!" Rose squealed.

The concierge had nodded at them just once from the far end of the concourse, where he stood before a scarlet curtain. The curtain draped the spot gate nineteen should have been, based on the numbers over the adjacent archways, and had been cordoned off in velvet rope.

Rose led them forward and held the rope back for the children to pass. She kissed the Doctor before linking arms and following them through the curtain. Like the other gates, the arched entrance led to a glass corridor carpeted with the same burgundy as the First Class concourse. Jenny curiously followed the gangway onward, but couldn't see the point, as there seemed to be nothing on the end of it. But, seeing as Mummy wanted them to, she figured there _had_ to be.

The Doctor took the lead as they approached the corridor's end and pressed his palm to a consol housed in the centre of the left-side wall. Rose mirrored him with the consol on the opposite side.

A previously hidden door slid open, and salty, humid air spilled out. Harry thought he heard the call of a howler monkey and definitely saw a flash of green and blue as some tropical bird flew out of sight.

"Go on," Rose urged them. "It's a project Torchwood's research team have been working on to test compression fields and miniaturisation. It's perfectly safe, now that the Doctor's tweaked it to be bigger on the inside, instead. Also, the animals are all designated non-harmful to humans larger than infant-sized. Try not to squish anything by accident, though."

"Well, me and a bunch of non-wizard-raised chaps that decided working in the magical world wasn't worth the stigma," the Doctor admitted. "We've signed loads of wizards onto both Unit and Torchwood since you lot started Hogwarts."

Jenny stepped aboard eagerly, followed by a more sedate Harry and Neville as they stared at their surroundings. It was a rain forest _inside the cabin of an air ship_.

The Doctor and Rose watched in smug satisfaction as the kids dashed off to explore the jungle beyond the handsome teak door. Hardwood floors gave way to peaty soil and lush greens as they wandered after their kids' happy voices. Blue winged butterflies, hand-length dragonflies, shining honeybees, colourful birds, scurrying reptiles, neon amphibians and nearly invisible rodents flew, scurried and crawled through the canopy and underbrush. Eventually, they all wound up on the bank of a slow-moving river and settled in for a picnic to watch the clouds float over the transparent ceiling.

"Is it magic or is it really see-through?" Neville wondered aloud before biting into an excellent beef and cucumber sandwich.

Rose smiled and leaned into the Doctor's chest.

"Both. Ceiling's made of a super-strong safety glass, and the zeppelin's gas chamber's rigged to project the sky outside, except when it's time for it to rain."

"When's that?" Harry asked as he tossed bits of salad to the ducks swimming just off the bank.

The Doctor checked his wristwatch.

"Not for another hour or so. There's a hut we can go to when it does. Or we can swim."

"That's alright. I didn't bring my costume," Neville mumbled.

"It was a pre-planned surprise. I had Gussie leave it with us," Rose grinned.

One rain shower, several sandwiches, nineteen bottles of juice and water, and one very nice swim, another birthday cake (to make up for the exploded one), and one sunset later, the Doctor announced it was time to disembark.

"We've just landed," he said, leading the way back to the entrance.

"I didn't know we were moving at all," Jenny yawned. She was only almost six-years-old and it wasn't often she explored a flying rain forest. "Where are we now?"

"Hotel for the night," Rose answered, ushering them out the door and down a rope ladder onto a very ordinary looking rooftop. "We'll have dinner in the restaurant and tomorrow, it'll be off to Diagon Alley."

Neville thought he had never slept better than when, thoroughly exhausted after a day of adventure, he curled up in the tidy twin bed at the super-clean and uncluttered hotel from which the Smiths rented their room. He was glad, too, that this time, the enterprise didn't involve breaking into forbidden corridors to fight dark wizards. Harry could invite him along on this sort of adventure any time, because Neville had been more right than he could have imagined: It _was_ the best birthday he had ever enjoyed.

* * *

Compared to the previous day, Diagon Alley seemed almost too tame. Augusta met them in the Leaky Cauldron for breakfast and delighted in listening to her grandson's account of his visit.

"Thank you for inviting Neville along for your birthday Mr Potter, Mr and Mrs Smith," Madam Longbottom said once he'd finished. "It sounds as if you went through quite a lot of trouble to entertain him."

"Please, it's Rose for me."

"And John," the Doctor added with a cheeky grin. "Especially since you let me call you Gussie."

"Well, I should hope you would," the witch smiled, waving a dismissive, green-gloved hand. "As old as I am, hardly anyone ever calls me by my name. It's always 'Madam' this and 'Madam' that."

"Anyway, it wasn't any trouble at all," Rose assured her. "We always do something for Harry's birthday, and we've always wanted him to enjoy it with another kid his age. I hope we can do it again next year."

"Perhaps we shall have to arrange a visit to our winter house in Switzerland, then," Augusta said graciously. "There's a wonderful dragon reserve not far from the chateau, and I daresay the house has stood empty long enough."

"Ooh, that'd be lovely."

"Real dragons?" Jenny asked, eyes wide.

The old woman gave the little girl a playful smile.

"Swedish Short Snouts, Norwegian Ridgebacks, and Finnish Seawürms, if I remember correctly."

Jenny peppered her parents and Augusta with questions on magical creatures for the rest of breakfast, after which she demanded to be taken to Gringotts so she could see a dragon for herself. The Doctor, curious after Harry's encounter with Norbert the baby dragon, eagerly obliged.

"Augusta?" Rose asked as she stared up the alley toward the bank.

"No, I think I'll visit my club for a nice sherry, if Neville and Harry want to go it alone."

The boys reassured her of that desire very quickly, and she smiled.

"Very well then. Shall we meet up at Flourish and Blotts at two?"

Everyone agreed and Harry set off with Neville toward Madam Malkin's. Both of them could see their ankles when they donned their school robes and needed to have them let down.

"I'm so glad its just books and a top-off for standard supplies this year," Harry said as they ducked inside the shop. "I think my trunk would have weighed half a tonne without those feather-light charms last year."

"I don't really understand why they make us take everything home, you know?" Neville commented as he shrugged out of his blue outer robe and slid on his Hogwarts one. "They could let us keep our cauldrons and most of our books at school, not to mention most of our supplies."

A tape measure began flying around him of its own volition and a slate and chalk hanging on the mirror started recording the figures.

"Homework, remember?" Harry said wryly. "Most people don't do it until the week before we get back."

"I still think there ought to be a better way to do it. Not everyone can afford feather-light charms or do them properly, and books are really dear."

"You're probably right, but I bet it's the way it is because of some stodgy old board member."

"That's it for you two," Madam Malkin interrupted with an indulgent smile. "Just leave your robes and cloaks with me, dears, and I'll have them finished by the time you're done shopping."

"Thank you," Harry said, handing his uniforms over.

"I'll debit your accounts, boys. Have a good time, now, and be safe."

"Yes ma'am," they said together.

Harry looked down the street and eyed their lists. A queue of mostly witches had formed outside Flourish and Blotts, which, for some reason, hadn't yet opened its doors. The boys eyed each other warily.

"Quills and parchment?" Harry suggested. "I want to buy some metal nibs."

"Great idea."

In an effort to while away the time before they had to brave the crowd at the bookseller, the boys ended up replenishing notebooks, folios and bottles of fadeless colour-change ink (a tap of the wand to switch from black, to green, to blue, to red, and back again) on top of their parchment and quills. Then they visited the sweets shop, Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, and the apothecary, and they still determined it wasn't close enough to two (and the crowd hadn't dwindled enough) for them to try finding their books, yet. So, in need of a distraction, they went into the Magical Menagerie on a lark.

Hedwig and Sir Wibbly would both be cross with him when he came home, Harry decided. The odour of magical animals hung heavy in the air, and if he could smell it, Hedwig and Jenny's kneezle would _definitely_ notice. Neville eyed a tank full of fat, glowing horse flies as they buzzed around in helical patterns.

"The sign says they'll make whatever ingests them glow. Do you think I should get some for Trevor?"

Harry pursed his lips.

"Might make him easier to find when he tries to run off again."

Neville laughed and picked one of the faintly buzzing, pre-filled cartons from the shelf.

"I still don't know how he keeps escaping. We've done everything from putting heavy things over his cage to magically locking it."

"Maybe he's more magical than he lets on," Harry mused.

Neville gave the shopkeeper five knuts for the flies. She dropped them in the till without looking at either of them and turned the page of her novel.

"What about you? Anything catch your eye?" he asked.

Harry's gaze flickered to a tiny tank in the window display, where a little snake with iridescent blue scales sunned itself in a placid coil. It was only about four inches long, at most, and thinner than the shaft of a quill. Its tiny rounded head raised a scant quarter-inch to turn and stare with little black eyes as Harry looked at it.

"Oh," Neville shivered a little.

He did not like snakes. One had tried to eat Trevor over the summer, and it was all he could do to levitate it away.

"I couldn't take it to school, though," Harry said wistfully. "She's just really cute."

Neville grimaced and shuffled his feet.

"Well… Technically you're not _disallowed_ a second pet, so long as you're not careless about it. It's one of those rules they don't enforce unless someone causes problems."

Harry eyed the little snake thoughtfully. She sat up a little taller. Coiled as she was, she only stood about an inch high.

"D'you think I should?"

"If your parents won't mind, and you want her." Neville shrugged and pointed to the sign. "I think Iridescent Bluescales are used for potions ingredients, otherwise."

Harry met pretty blue snake's beady-eyed stare and grinned.

"That settles it, then."

They left the store with the snake's little tank, a box of live crickets to feed her, and Neville's carton of flies, just as the clock turned a quarter of two. The snake, dubbed 'Kilat' ('lightning,' in Malay, for her speed and country of origin), curled happily inside Harry's breast pocket and hissed happily about the warmth and joy of leaving the house of predators.

The post owls, apparently, did not respect the shopkeepers' desire to keep Kilat alive, and had often attempted to eat her when left unattended.

"_What did you do?"_ asked Harry in an undertone so quiet it sounded like he was just breathing through his teeth.

"_I bit the owl, of course. Not enough to kill it, but it learned not to be so bold."_

"_So you're venomous?"_

"_Not really. Only enough to kill mice and insects and to protect myself. It only causes temporary pain in larger things. At least, until I am bigger."_

"_How big can you get?"_

"_My mother was as long as you are tall, but she was very old. Most of us do not live that long," _Kilat said in a near silent hiss.

"What's she say?" Neville asked.

"She's a baby, still. Her mum was as long as we're tall."

"Great."

Harry clapped him on the shoulder. They had just reached the crowded front door to the bookseller. A banner spanning the upper floor windows explained the reason for the hullabaloo, and made Neville even less motivated to go in for his books:

_Meet GILDEROY LOCKHART_ _in the flesh – Book signing for new release, MAGICAL ME today 12:30 – 4:30 p.m. _

"No worries. It'll be ages by the time she gets that big. And she's really quite sweet."

Neville didn't get a chance to respond because it became nearly impossible to hear each other, let alone stay together, as they tried to wind their way through the mad throng gathered in the too-small main floor of the bookshop. They had no trouble finding their books, however. _Standard Book of Spells: Grade Two_ and two sets of Gilderoy Lockhart's complete works sailed into their arms as soon as they found an adequately unobserved spot behind one of the taller bookshelves. Making it to the register proved harder.

"Do you think Gran and your parents will be able to find us in this?" Neville shouted as they squeezed between two particularly excitable witches.

"Doubt it! We should just pay and wait outside."

"Ow!" Neville shouted.

A wizard in wrinkled robes and a tattered hat nearly knocked Neville over in his haste to snap a photo of the elaborately dressed wizard seated on the dais in the centre of the shop. Harry caught him just before he could topple a column of precariously stacked books and sent a glare at the photographer.

"Oi, watch it! You could hurt someone!"

"Shut it, you, it's for the _Prophet_."

"That's no excuse for failing at common decency," Harry snapped. He turned to help Neville gather up his spilled books, but someone's hand clamped down hard on his bicep and yanked him backwards.

"Dear Lord! It's Harry Potter!"

The crowd parted and the cacophony faded to a faint, whispering hum. Harry felt his face and ears burn red as the blonde wizard bodily dragged him to the pedestal. Everyone started applauding. A flash and a purple cloud of smoke momentarily blinded and choked him while Gilderoy Lockhart forcibly shook his right hand.

"Big smile, Harry, my boy," the author said through his own blindingly bright smile. "Together we'll make the front page."

Harry's brain reengaged as the photographer raised his camera again.

"Excuse you, _sir_," he spat as coldly and clearly as he could, "But _I_ never gave you or this photographer leave to be so familiar. Just who do you think you are?"

The fastidiously groomed and colour-coordinated wizard only beamed brighter even as his right eye twitched. He reached out as if to pull Harry into a one-armed hug, and Harry stepped back.

"Harry! Don't be melodramatic, my boy. Bad form, you know–"

People had begun whispering. Lockhart's smile flickered just a moment and Harry sneered.

"No, I do not. You're out of order. Your photographer knocked over my friend, and you take it upon yourself to manhandle me for a photo-op?" Harry turned to the crowd and affected his most innocent, putout expression.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm sorry if I seem rude, but I didn't plan on being assaulted today and I don't know what this man's on about."

The murmurs got a little louder and several of people in the queue sent confused looks at one another and the wizard in question. Harry tried not to grin. Gramps had given him quite a lot of coaching on how to handle a forced media confrontation, and he intended to put those hours to good use. The bruise he felt growing on his left arm demanded as much.

"Now, now, my boy, I simply wished to shake your hand–"

"I'm not _your boy_, and I don't want my photo taken. I want an immediate apology for your indecorous behaviour, or I shall notify my guardian of your actions today. I'm just a kid. You can't just grab me and haul me around like your pet monkey."

Several people began to grumble as Harry's words sank in.

"I know he's famous, but that's The-Boy-Who-Lived."

"He's right. If he were my boy, I'd give the man a smack."

"Just what does he think he's playing at?"

Neville very helpfully yelled "You should be ashamed, you overgrown peacock!" and a few others echoed the sentiment. It didn't take long until they started shouting at him in earnest. Lockhart shrunk under their fury, unable to manage more than a few half-formed stammers.

"You can't treat The-Boy-Who-Lived that way!"

"N-now see here–"

"Interrupting someone's day for your vanity!"

"I didn't–"

"Prat!"

"…owe that poor boy–"

"…should be ashamed–"

"I… I–"

Someone threw a wad of paper, and others immediately followed. Harry ducked off the little stage as the debris really began flying.

"Please, ladies! Please!" a very harassed looking wizard with a manager's badge shouted. He finally gave up and whistled shrilly.

By inches, he restored order to the upset queue, but by then, Harry and Neville had already made it to the register. Neville handed him back his books (which had fallen out of his arms upon his impromptu ascent to the dais), grinning.

"That was wicked, Harry. You handled that like a politician."

Harry laughed.

"I _am_ in Slytherin. Besides, he's a berk. I hope he's a good writer, at least, or classes are going to drag this year."

They paid without further incident, but as the signing had picked back up (albeit with fewer people in the queue), they ended up pushing through the crowd again. They ended up having to go around the back of the shop and up onto the second level only to fight their way down the main staircase toward the door.

"This shop's not even that big," Neville complained. "How can there be so many people in here?"

"Someone – Oof! – Got lazy," Harry grunted, squeezing behind a particularly solid wizard.

"Excuse me–"

A dignified man with shoulder-length, platinum blonde hair and piercing grey eyes stepped out from behind a shelf to nod slightly at them both.

"May I offer my assistance? It's a shame to say most people are too…" The man smiled unpleasantly. "Shall we say, _uncouth_, to recognize when they stand in the way of their betters, regardless of relative height. Hopefully, they'll know better as you grow."

Harry regarded the man neutrally. He recognised him from Draco's family photo at school, but even if he hadn't, the imposing wizard looked and walked quite a lot like Draco.

"I'm sorry, Sir," Harry said. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure of an introduction. Are you Draco's father? Only, he resembles you very closely."

The man's thin lips pressed into a ghost of a smile.

"My son's told me a lot about you, Mr Potter. The pleasure is all mine."

They shook hands. Harry tried to appear relaxed, and Neville shifted beside him nervously.

"While we wait for you to grow, shall I escort you downstairs? I believe I saw Madam Longbottom at the café across the way."

Harry thanked him and gestured for the man to lead them before glancing back at Neville.

"_Do you see Draco?"_ he mouthed.

The boy shook his head slightly.

"Harry! Neville!"

Fred and George Weasley, solidly built fourth-year beaters for Gryffindor and semi-professional troublemakers, muscled their way through the throng toward them, casting cautious glances at the sneering Mr Malfoy as they approached. Relief washed over the second years.

"Red hair, complexion of the oft-afield…" Malfoy looked the twins over. "Second-hand attire of questionable origin."

The twins glared at the man fearlessly.

"Of course, you must be Weasley spawn. Is there something you wanted? I was escorting Mr Potter and Mr Longbottom to their guardians."

"Actually, sir, I just remembered we were supposed to meet Fred and George before we left," Harry said hastily. "Thanks for your assistance, though."

He nudged Neville to walk past the Malfoy patriarch as he stared down at them coolly.

"If you wish, Mr Potter. I'm sure your first-hand judgment of these–" He paused and smirked around the word he undoubtedly wanted to say. "–Delightful folk supersedes my own. Good day."

It would have ended there, but luck wasn't with Harry and Neville that day. A tall, balding redhead in well-worn robes and a slightly lumpy hand-knitted jumper squeezed between the twins and smiled down at the boys. Harry had never met him, but there was no doubt the man could be no other than Fred and George's dad and his mum's previous boss. Ron Weasley and a girl with equally flaming hair followed in his wake.

Ron glared at Harry. He had never forgiven Harry's Slytherin sorting. The girl, Ginny, if Harry remembered correctly, clutched a dented cauldron overflowing with very shabby second-hand books to her chest and did her best to look anywhere but at them.

"Harry, Neville," he said. "There you are. I just saw Ms Roselyn and Madam Longbottom outside. I told them I'd fetch you for them."

"Thanks, Mr Weasley," Neville gushed. "We were just telling Mr Malfoy–"

"Malfoy?"

Mr Weasley looked up, and his pleasant disposition evaporated.

"Lucius," he said by way of cool greeting.

"Arthur," the statuesque blonde drawled, smirking. "My, you look exhausted. I do hope the Ministry's paying you overtime what with all those late-night raids."

He raised a white eyebrow and plucked a very worn, dog-eared, stained copy of _Magical Theory_ by Adalbert Waffling from the girl's collection.

"Then again, perhaps not," he sneered. "Tell me, _what_ is the point of your disgraces against wizardry if they don't even pay you for your efforts?"

Mr Weasley's mouth thinned into a white line in his reddening face as he grabbed hold of his sons, who had twitched as if to attack the man.

"Obviously, we have very different ideas of what disgraces a wizard," he ground out.

Harry pulled Neville back slightly until they stood just behind the twins. He could smell and taste the opposing magic between these men building, and he really didn't want to get between them if they started flinging hexes. As nice as he thought the Weasleys based on the twins and slightly uptight Percy, he recognized a quick temper in all of them.

"Indeed," Lucius glanced at Mrs Weasley, who watched anxiously nearby. "Yet, I shouldn't be surprised, really. After all, how much farther can you fall when your wife, the only surviving descendent of the Prewett line, becomes a brood mare–"

Harry yanked the girl out of the way as Mr Weasley, the twins, and Ron tackled Malfoy into a bookcase. The cauldron clattered across the floor, and patrons jumped out of the way of the flailing limbs and falling books.

"Don't you _ever_ talk about my wife!" Mr Weasley shouted.

Fred, George and Ron's contributions to the dialogue were far less tame.

"Boys! Arthur!" Mrs Weasley shrilly yelled. "Stop this at once!"

They kept on, though, and Harry felt fairly certain they wouldn't stop until Malfoy resembled a bit of rare meat.

"You okay?" Neville asked the redheaded girl as she stared at the chaos with wide brown eyes.

She nodded.

"Want help with your books?" he offered.

Harry looked down. The cauldron had spilled its contents all over the place. He ducked and snatched up two volumes before the swaying crowd could, or Mrs Weasley (who was attempting to extricate her husband and children from the fight by applying liberal stinging hexes), could trample them.

"Here," Harry grunted, passing the books to Neville, who had just righted the cauldron. "What's your name?" he asked the girl, who had chased down two other books before they could be scattered by the stampede.

"Ginny," she squeaked. "Thanks for helping. Sorry about them."

"They're boys," Harry shrugged.

Neville frowned at him.

"We're boys."

"Someday, we'll get into a fight, too, I just hope we have the sense not to do it in front of witnesses.

"Sometimes, Harry, you scare me," Neville sighed.

"Arthur Weasley, stop this right this second or you shall sleep in the sitting room for a month!" Mrs Weasley tried again.

"Please! Gentlemen!" an assistant shouted.

The press began screaming around them as they knocked over teetering stacks of books and overburdened bookshelves.

"Ow!"

"Watch out!"

"Gerroff me you git!"

It was becoming a brawl. A brawl in a bookshop.

Harry ducked low, his arms over his head to protect himself from the falling tomes, and squinted through the dust and bodies. Kilat hissed at him in fear and frustration from his pocket. He patted the writhing lump in light reassurance.

"We can get out over there," he shouted over his shoulder. "Coming, Nev, Ginny?"

The other two nodded eagerly.

"Stick close!"

He screwed up his face and tried to corral his frayed emotions into check, then expelled a long breath. Immediately, the crowd parted just enough to allow fairly thin adults or three normal sized children to pass through unhindered. Harry felt Neville grab onto his cloak as he led the way out of the rapidly deteriorating store, their purchases clutched tightly to their chests.

"Neville!"

The boys and Ginny sighed in relief as Harry's parents and Augusta Longbottom came into view.

"What on Earth is going on? Tell me this instant," she demanded, her face devoid of any amusement.

"My dad and Mr Malfoy are fighting," Ginny explained, her cheeks flaming. "He was saying stuff about my mum."

"Foolish man," Augusta grumbled. "Molly's well equipped to handle mere words. He coddles her too much. Did you know, young Weasley, your mother won two duelling championships before she graduated Hogwarts?"

"Really? She never said."

Harry and Neville slumped into the café chairs recently abandoned by curious spectators and set their purchases down.

"Where are Mum and Dad?" he asked as he drew Kilat from his pocket.

The brilliant blue snake coiled around his thumb and squeezed appreciatively. She was very glad to be away from the noise and potentially squashing objects. When he looked back at Augusta, her face had taken on a determined, hard look.

"Up the street picking up your robes with Jenny. They didn't know how long you'd be in the bookstore and thought it best to make sure we got them before we left.

"Now," she said, turning back to Ginny. "I think we are in need of a little order, are we not?"

"Yes, please," Neville groaned. "The last thirty minutes have been mad."

"I shall like a more detailed explanation later, young man," his grandmother assured him. "But for now, let's remind those silly people we're British."

The boys and Ginny watched in awe and appreciation as the Longbottom matriarch adjusted the of her hunter green suit, rolled back the sleeves of dark red robe, drew her wand, and marched into the fray with her vulture hat positioned rather jauntily on her white hair. What several shop clerks and countless fully-grown witches and wizards failed to do, Augusta accomplished with two cannon blasts and a widespread immobilising charm.

"That is quite enough of that, thank you," she boomed in her sternest voice. "Mr Hurst," she said in a lower tone, addressing the harassed looking manager frozen with his hands pulling at his candyfloss hair. "You may bill Mr Malfoy for the expenses of fixing your shop, seeing as he instigated this unworthy debacle."

Even from across the alley, Harry was sure he could see murder in the frozen Malfoy's eyes.

"Now, I am removing the Weasleys from this mess, and you may all go about your merry way. I hope you all feel ashamed of yourselves. You are grown men and women, wizards and witches all, and you panic at a few falling books? It is no wonder You-Know-Who nearly won."

She then proceeded to free the Weasleys from the spell. Harry would have laughed at their expressions if he wasn't feeling so tired, already. The twins and Ron were faintly smug, having upheld the family honour. Mr Weasley, though humble before his wife's ire, stood taller than when he entered the fight. Mrs Weasley, panicked as she was, nearly missed the fact Ginny had escaped the chaos with Harry and Neville, and spent five minutes searching through the frozen patrons before she heard her daughter yelling for her. Through it all, Harry felt like he was missing something important, something essential, but when he tried to focus on the elusive hint of intuition, it fled before the headache growing behind his eyelids.

At the end of the shopping trip, Harry was very glad to retreat home with his mum, dad, and sister.

"Anything interesting happen?" the Doctor asked once they settled in for dinner that evening.

"I'll tell you tomorrow," Harry groaned. "I did adopt a snake, though."

Kilat poked her head out of the neck of Harry's shirt, where he'd transfigured himself a rather sloppy hidden pocket. She tasted the air and hummed her approval to him.

"Wow," Jenny gushed. "She's really pretty."

"I'm fairly certain that species is poisonous, isn't it?" the Doctor frowned, his gaze a little faraway as he recalled the exact source he learned that from.

"Not lethal, just painful if she gets you, but she's promised not to bite anyone I approve of."

"Fine with me, then," Rose smiled. "She is gorgeous."

Kilat fairly wriggled with delight.

"_I enjoy your nest mates. They have great taste," _she hissed.

"_You say that now, but we're all a bit mad."_

"_That just makes it more fun. Please feed me a nice, fat cricket when you take me to my new nest."_

Sir Wibbly made his appearance at that moment. The orange, flat-faced cat hopped up into Jenny's lap and peered over the top of the table at Harry and his new companion.

"_Excellent. A predator. When were you going to tell me about him?"_

"Sir Wibbly won't eat you," Harry sighed in exasperation. At least the cat didn't seem too upset with him. _"He's a kneezle. He knows the difference between intelligent life, threats, and prey. Trust me, that look doesn't mean you're in the latter two categories."_

"_And what of the owl I smell?"_

"_Even smarter."_

Sir Wibbly hissed and sent Harry a positively piercing glare.

The snake laughed. Harry groaned. His family continued eating dinner as if multi-species conversations happened at every meal.

* * *

_**1 September 2013**_

August passed in a blur. Rose and the Doctor had already furnished most of the house in Hogsmeade, but there were still the last minute things. A whole list of tasks and questions, in fact, remained specific to Harry's preferences.

1) Pick the colour palette for your room.

2) Pets' room? Yes, no, or specific to primary caregiver? (Underline Preference)

3) Separate out books for new house.

4) Pack wizarding wardrobe for new house.

5) Separate out toys/keepsakes for new house.

6) Double-check bedroom for all new house things.

7) Triple-check bedroom.

8) Charge and activate stasis charm rune array on bedroom.

It was a fairly short list, but anyone who knew Harry knew items three and five would pose certain issues. Eventually, though, he muddled through.

His new room came together in shades of pale, soothing greens and light silvery greys with a hint of deep blue thrown in. Hedwig got a special owl recovery and launch spot nestled in the eaves over the great room, while Kilat and Sir Wibbly elected to sleep with their chosen humans. Harry chose all of his favourite books to take with him to the Hogsmeade address. His wardrobe was easily dealt with using magic, and he picked just a few photographs and a stuffed stag to accompany him in the way on other personal effects.

The family officially took up residence in the newly renovated home on the twenty-second, closed down the floos to and from the Gallop, and transitioned into village life easily. The Doctor and Rose spent their days at the school, preparing for term. Harry finished his summer homework and quizzed Jenny on magical creatures and herbology, which she enjoyed very much and seemed to have a knack for. Their days ended with flights over the village on their brooms (once the Doctor tweaked Jenny's to go as high as she wanted and to trigger an automatic sticking charm at heights greater than six feet from the ground).

Jenny loved it. There were witches and wizards her age in Hogsmeade on top of finally being able to see Hogwarts, if only by aerial view.

Harry, did too, but wondered why he should have to take the Hogwarts Express to school when he lived within ten minutes of walking from the castle.

"Security, student safety, and tradition, I imagine," the Doctor said in his most posh voice. "I'll drop you at the station after I get Jenny to school. Pack your uniform and a lunch in your school bag and leave your trunk with us. We'll take it up to the castle this afternoon and I'll have… Cuddie?"

Harry nodded.

"Deliver it to your dormitory," he finished. "Ah, and Tony made you a lovely little pouch to carry Kilat in."

Harry happily slipped the rather pretty wool-lined drawstring pouch over his head and tucked it under his robes. Kilat hissed happily when he lowered her into it.

"_Very warm,"_ she said appreciatively.

The morning of the first dawned brilliantly bright and warm. Jenny, who had wanted to go out and ride her broom (without either of her parents or brother to keep an eye out) attempted to argue her cause while her brother held an argument with Sir Wibbly, who desperately wanted to go to ride the train.

"I've already got Kilat and Hedwig. And you know as well as I do you're coming with the Doctor tonight.

The orange part-kneezle gave him a withering glare and meowed stubbornly.

Harry groaned and stared at the ceiling.

"Mum and Dad are technically professors in residence from now on out, so why don't you ask one of them to ride the train with you?"

Sir Wibbly twitched his bottlebrush tail irritably.

"Well, if you already asked them, why'd you ask me?"

The cat turned its back on him and walked off with its nose held in the air. Harry sighed and went back to eating breakfast.

At eight thirty, Harry, school bag in hand, met the Doctor in the small back garden.

"Ready?" he asked, looking his son over.

Harry nodded.

"Rose, Jenny, we're off!" he called through the house.

"See you soon, Harry!"

"You'd better take me flying this weekend, Harry!" Jenny shouted.

"Alright," the Doctor said, offering Harry his elbow. "Hold tight, take a deep breath, and hold it. It'll be uncomfortable, but we'll be there in a jiffy. Okay?"

The man twisted against their hold and a moment later, Harry felt sure he had just been stuffed through a straw. His head spun momentarily. Platform 9 ¾ buzzed with the usual rush of activity. Harry gulped air after the apparition and hitched his bag a little higher on his back as, around him, families bid goodbye to their children. The Doctor gave him a hug and clasped his shoulder.

"Got everything?"

"Yeah."

"Keep any eye on Draco, okay? Based on what happened at Diagon Alley, I think the danger Dobby told us about definitely has something to do with Lucius."

Harry nodded.

"Alright. I'll see you in a few hours. Off you go."

The Slytherin boarded the train after some first years and set off to find Hermione's compartment, since she always arrived earliest to any occasion out of all of their friends. He looked in nearly all the compartments until he came to the last compartment of the second carriage from the end.

"Hi," he said a little anticlimactically even as he beamed about.

He was the last to arrive: Hermione, Daphne, Draco, Blaise, Tracy, Hannah, Susan and Neville sat inside the largest compartment he'd seen on the train aside from the prefects' carriages at the front. The standard carriage held seven adjacent compartments, which in turn contained facing seating for eight people in addition to a foldaway tabletop.

This compartment, however, stretched half again as long as the standard ones. A long bench of blue velvet spanned the space beneath a wide window in addition to the regular seating to the left and right. Daphne and Blaise had already begun a game of exploding snap on one of the three coffee tables standing about the room. It was a vast improvement to the cramped trip home earlier that summer.

"Where's your trunk?" Hermione asked as she shut the door.

"Dad's taking it to the castle for me."

The Hufflepuff threw her arms around Harry's neck as soon as he tucked his bag into the overhead wrack.

"Tell me _everything_ about your summer. Did you and Neville _really_ have a picnic in a tropical forest? Have you done your homework?"

"Let him sit down, at least," Daphne laughed. "One would think you haven't written all summer."

Harry threw himself happily onto the bench beneath the window. Susan's owl, perched on the wrack overhead, eyed him disapprovingly.

"Did you ever figure out what that was?" Hermione continued impatiently. "Your post problems, that is."

Harry nodded.

"I have to talk to someone about it first, before I tell you all."

"That sounds bad," Neville grumbled. "I was really hoping for a nice, quiet year."

Draco snorted.

"Don't count on it. Harry Potter's whole life seems to be one horrid scramble of unseemly excitement."

"Maybe," Harry shrugged. "But prior to last year, 'unseemly excitement' was a lot of fun. No evil wizards, no life-threatening obstacles…"

"We never did hear what was in there," Susan commented. "Don't you think the story's overdue?"

Daphne, Draco, Hermione, Neville and Harry all avoided making eye contact.

"We don't have the slightest idea what you're on about, Bones," Daphne said primly. "Why ever would you think we _didn't _fight a dragon?"

"That's just a rumour. How would they even fit a dragon?" Blaise said doubtfully. "You can't put one in a magically enlarged space and you certainly can't shrink one."

"You're assuming it was a full grown, dragon, though," Draco suggested.

The others of the Corridor Quartet (so called by the rest of them) broke out into giggles.

* * *

A/N: There you go! Thanks for taking the time to read, review, and favorite. I love you all.

-Forensica X


	3. Another Year, Another Plot

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated.

A/N: Here you go! Real life is starting back up again, so I may have to start posting weekly or bi-weekly rather than the insane pace I set for the last book. Thanks for your continued interest and for taking the time to read.

* * *

_**Not Not-Human Book Two: All Hail the Time Lord's Son**_

Chapter Three – Another Year, Another Plot

* * *

_**1 September 2013**_

The rest of the journey from London to Hogsmeade Station passed in a blur of sweets and lively conversation. Hermione especially enjoyed hearing about Neville and Harry's zeppelin ride.

"We took a cruise-class LuxAir 220 to France, of course, but it wasn't anything near so wonderful as a tropical rain forest. We did have our own suite, though."

This, of course, led to a discussion and explanation of what zeppelins were and how they worked for Daphne, Draco, Blaise, Tracy and Hannah's benefit. Susan helped translate the scientific terms for a wizarding audience, assisted by her aunt's frequent contact with non-magical law enforcement and secrecy maintenance.

"So, it's like a giant balloon?"

"Basically," Harry agreed.

"And it's got a compartment underneath for people to ride in?"

"Exactly," Hermione nodded.

"And it doesn't use magic?" Blaise said doubtfully. "Fat chance. I know muggles are smart and all, but you can't just make something fly _without_ help."

"Where non-magical people lack magic they make up for it in technology," Harry said for what felt like the millionth time.

"It really does work," Hermione assured her doubtful friends. "Look, if you doubt us that much, we'll build a miniature one together."

"Oh, Jenny'll like that. How big should we make it?" Harry said, rubbing his hands together. "You've got to specify the scale, here."

"We can't make it big enough to ride in," Hermione scoffed.

"Then how are you going to prove it works, really?" Draco grumbled. "If you don't put anyone in the cabin, you haven't proved anything."

"We'll make it big enough for a six-year-old," Harry interjected. "My sister's always wanted an airship."

"No magic allowed, agreed?" Susan suggested.

Hermione and Harry grinned.

"We accept your challenge," he said.

They pulled into the station, then, and the quintet separated from the others as they went toward the carriages waiting to carry them off. The thestrals pulling them padded the ground silently. Harry watched his friends' expressions. Neville caught his eye, but the others didn't seem to notice the leathery, skeletal winged horse as they climbed into the black carriage painted with the Hogwarts crest.

Excitement built in Harry's chest as the line of steadily moving carriages broke past the castle wall passed through the wrought iron gates guarding the road to the castle. Two hulking winged boars of weathered stone stood as sentries on either side of the gate atop the wall. Their granite snouts twitched as each carriage drove past.

"I hope they've got fruit tarts for pudding," Neville said as the castle's brilliant windows came into view on the horizon. "I'm starving."

Harry was practically bouncing in his seat by the time they pulled to a stop just before the main steps. A sea of black-robed students poured through the soaring entrance, their pointed hats casting spiky shadows behind them.

"I'm sorry about whoever you lost," Harry whispered to Neville once the others had preceded them.

"My grandfather," the boy admitted. "He was really old. I didn't even know until someone had told me, later. He just fell asleep while I was practicing my reading."

Harry let the subject drop. He didn't want to say who he'd witnessed dying. Neville didn't press him.

Finally, they were swept into the great hall. Neville and Hermione gave their Slytherin friends a short wave as they separated into their houses. Harry immediately began scanning the head table and found them near the end.

Rose beamed down at him from Snape's side. The Doctor sat beside her, talking animatedly with Professor Flitwick. Snape's eyes snapped to Harry as his parents waved to him. He looked decidedly less crotchety than he normally seemed at mealtimes. Harry only looked away when sitting required it. As much as he enjoyed the lessons at Hogwarts, last year would have been far more bearable if his parents had been there. He'd missed them horribly.

"Your mother's even prettier in person," Draco whispered as they sat at the very end of the table, nearest the head table and in a perfect observation point to view the rest of the hall. "But who's that waving at you?"

Harry turned and groaned. There, seated on McGonagall's left, was the last person Harry wanted to see in the defence professor's post.

"Is that Gilderoy Lockhart?" Daphne gasped. "But he's rubbish. His books are awful. They're more an extended autobiography than anything."

"How can you say that?" Pansy Parkinson snapped. "Just because he's prettier than you–"

"Believe me," Daphne said in affected nonchalance. "If I begin to desire your dubious opinion, I shall notify you. Otherwise, please do keep that awful whinging voice to yourself."

Blaise, a few seats down, choked back a laugh. Draco grinned.

Whispers began sweeping the halls. Those who recognised Lockhart easily filled in the others, and everyone correctly assumed he would be taking the defence professorship for the year. No one, however, seemed to know who the two rather beautiful strangers were.

"Are they together?"

"He's proper gorgeous–"

"Have you ever seen a Hogwarts professor you'd actually want to–"

Harry very deliberately tuned that out.

"What do you think she'll teach?"

"Did they create a new class?"

"Who are they?"

"Who is she?"

"Fabulous dress sense–"

But then the main doors opened again and McGonagall led in the first-years.

"Oh, that poor girl looks like she fell in the lake," Tracy said, nodding to a particularly small girl with large blue eyes and sheets of water-darkened blonde hair.

McGonagall absently cast a drying charm at her as the first-years came to a stop before the ancient sorting hat on the same bench Harry remembered. This year's new class contained only a few more students than his, and all of them looked terrified.

A hush settled over the great hall as McGonagall unfurled her list.

"Aubrey, Beth!" became the first sorted. The little brunette hopped eagerly onto the stool. The hat had barely touched her head when it shouted:

"_GRYFFINDOR!"_

And so it went. The girl who looked like she fell in the lake ended up in Ravenclaw. She skipped the whole way to her table, where her housemates whooped and hollered.

Ginevra joined Beth Aubrey, Quinlivan O'Bradaigh, Ritchie Coote, Collin Creevey, Natalie Fairbourne, Amelia Fischer, Nandini Johar, Aamir Lumat, and Jack Sloper in Gryffindor. Only a five remained, now. Harry's stomach grumbled.

Finally, Edward Zuirl joined the Gryffindors, too, and the hall exploded in applause. As before last year's feast, Professor Dumbledore had the decency to hold off on long announcements until after their bellies were full.

"Tuck in!" he simply said.

"Hear, hear!" the Weasley twins shouted in unison.

Nearly everyone laughed. Platters of delicious food appeared on the table, and only eleven years of table manners kept Harry from ripping into the beautiful pheasant before him with both hands (as Ron Weasley was doing two tables away).

The conversation around the table picked back up where it left off.

"So, does _anyone_ know who the beautiful witch is?" Adrian Pucey asked.

"Why?" Draco laughed. "Wanting to court her?"

"She's a little out of your league," Blaise said playfully. "_Leagues_, really."

"Don't be stupid." Adrian rolled his eyes. "I'm just curious."

"She's _Mrs_ Roselyn Smith," Daphne said primly. "And the gorgeous one–"

Harry shuddered at the look on her face. It was too weird to have people _admire_ his mum and dad that way.

"–is _Mr_ John Smith."

"Again, how do _you_ know, Greengrass?" Parkinson sneered.

"Because they're Harry's mum and dad."

That started an uproar. Word spread like mad down the Slytherin table and across the hall until the volume level raised several decibels, and many students craned in their seats to see Mr and Mrs Smith better.

"What are they going to teach?"

"I thought they were muggles!"

"Are they related to the Smiths of Exiter?"

When the time came for Dumbledore to speak again, and the puddings were thoroughly demolished, the headmaster had to let off a cannon blast before the hall was restored to order.

"Thank you for your attention," he said, his beard twitching with obvious amusement. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! If you are returning, I am very glad to share some very exciting changes with you all. If you have just joined us, I am sure you shall benefit greatly from these new measures. As you no doubt have noticed, we have the honour of welcoming not one, but three new professors to our staff this year."

The silence was complete.

"In addition to Mr Gilderoy Lockhart, your new professor for defence against the dark arts, it is my greatest pleasure to introduce Mrs Roselyn Smith, Professor for Non-Magical Culture. This subject shall be replacing the class previously known as Muggle Studies. Dear Professor Lumsden–"

The Scott rose and waved to everyone.

"–Graciously agreed to teach a new subject, Wizarding Law and Etiquette, which, after careful consideration of the school board, shall be mandatory for all students from first to third years."

This produced a collective groan for nearly everyone. Harry sat a little straighter. He hadn't known about that, but supposed it made sense. Perhaps the Doctor had come up with the idea to keep Mr Lumsden happy.

"Professor Smith brings joins us with a Mastery of Non-Magical Cultures and Sciences from the Melbourne Academy of Higher Magical Study and a Mastery of Social Sciences from Oxford University, a most prestigious muggle school of higher learning. She has told me she enjoys dancing, travelling and outings with her family. Please join me in welcoming her to Hogwarts."

Harry and his friends clapped the loudest as his mum stood and nodded to them all, a huge smile on her face. Several boys whistled and Harry tried not to wince. So weird. He knew his mum was pretty, but this was just embarrassing. Professor Dumbledore smiled around at them all indulgently and raised his hands for silence. Professor Binns ghost floated through the floor to hover beside him. Everyone began murmuring all at once. The ghost _never_ left his classroom.

"For over a century, Hogwarts has been blessed with Mr Cuthbert Binns' wonderful teaching. Indeed, so dedicated was he in his efforts to educate young minds, he refused to leave his post until a teacher of equal or greater calibre could be found. I find it bittersweet, then, to ask you all to join me in applauding Professor Binns in his remarkable performance as he finally steps down from his post."

The acclamation was slower this time, a little hesitant. No one _enjoyed_ Binns' classes, but they _did_ afford them an extra naptime. Binns bowed around at them all before sinking back through the floor.

"Professor Binns has graciously offered himself as an assistant librarian to Madam Pince. He shall always be available for students desirous of extra assistance in history."

Harry felt very certain, after his single year fighting a state of stupor in Binns' class, that no one would ever take him up on that offer.

"It is, therefore, a great pleasure to announce his successor: Mr John Smith, Doctor of History, Sociology, Physics, Chemistry, Biology, Medicine, Psychology…"

Many of the non-wizard raised began murmuring in amazement.

"Actually, this list is quite long, so I shall just short things by saying Mr Smith holds just about every Degree of higher education available to muggles, in addition to Masteries in Charms, Transfiguration, Magical Theory, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Healing and History."

The murmuring became a smidge incredulous and enveloped nearly everyone there.

"He joins us as our new Professor for History of Magic. I am sure, after seeing his lesson plans, that you shall thoroughly enjoy his class."

Despite the students' obvious doubt, nearly everyone applauded, the girls most loudly of all, as the Doctor bowed and waved. It died more quickly than the applause for Rose, to her obvious satisfaction.

"Finally," Dumbledore said, once quiet reigned again, "I remind you all, again, that the Forbidden Forest remains forbidden. Mr Filch has refreshed the list of banned items. It has been posted in each of your common rooms in addition to his office door for your perusal. Quidditch tryouts shall be held during the second week of school. Please check with your head of house and quidditch captains if you are interested."

The headmaster twinkled at them all as if being there was his greatest joy and clapped his hands together. The plates, leftovers and cutlery vanished, leaving behind spotless tables.

"Thank you all for your attention. Now, pip, pip! Off to bed."

Harry lingered as his housemates milled toward the door. He caught his parents' eye and waved before following the other Slytherins out of the great hall.

…

A Slytherin in want of information is a thing to witness. Harry should have known how excitable everyone was sure to be after such a momentous welcoming feast, but for whatever reason, he forgot exactly how determined they could be.

They lay in wait, all crammed into the common room, when he entered. Harry goggled momentarily at his surroundings. Usually, the space seemed rather intimate, big enough to fit perhaps fifty people at most (uncomfortably); now, however, it seemed nearly all two-hundred some Slytherins had gathered through the den.

"Is it bigger in here?" he asked as Daphne and Draco flanked him.

"Of course it is," Draco murmured. "How else do you think they did the common room feast last Halloween?"

"He probably assumed a buffet and year group study room situation," Daphne whispered.

The seventh year head prefects, Terrance Higgs and Bridget Blishwick, set off a couple flash bangs and the clamouring shouts for Harry's attention faded out.

"Right. Professor Snape will be here momentarily," said Bridget, "and we have class in the morning, so I propose we handle this with the dignity I know you all to possess."

"Blishwick and I have discussed it, and with Mr Potter's permission, we would like to have a question and answer session tomorrow at eight o'clock, here in the common room. In the meantime, please put your questions in this box."

Terrance waved his wand at a lump of firewood and it transfigured into a plain oak box with a little slot at the top.

"Well, Potter? Do you agree?" he asked.

Everyone stared to look Harry, where he'd stopped just inside the entrance. He supposed it would be better than fielding questions for the rest of the week.

"Fine with me. Obviously, I reserve the right to dismiss any question I find too personal. Other than that, I do owe you the advantage of foreknowledge."

"Excellent. Thank you for your graciousness," Bridget nodded. "Now, everyone above first year should head to bed. Breakfast begins at half past six and ends at nine if you're lucky enough not to have a first period scheduled. And Higgs and I shall have timetables delivered to your rooms by eight."

On that note, Harry, Draco and Blaise retired to their beds, wholly ignoring Nott, who shouted questions after them. Hedwig screed at him when he entered and Harry spent several moments stroking her soft feathers before she flew off to hunt.

"_I can tell you're enjoying this,"_ Kilat hissed in Harry's ear after he lay down for the night.

Harry yawned and gave the little snake a kiss on her tiny head.

"_I grew up around a certain level of chaos. Besides, I'd put up with nosiness any day to keep my parents around. Last year was awful."_

* * *

_**2 September 2013**_

The narrow slit windows on either side of Harry's bed still showed no sign of light when he woke, unsure of what woke him in the first place. A soft tickle in his ear made him shiver as he pushed his glasses onto his face.

"_A boy let himself in,"_ Kilat whispered.

Harry blinked at the dark silhouette by his bed.

"Draco?"

"I need to talk to you," he whispered back.

Harry waved his hand and the lamp on his bedside table flared to life along with the candles on his writing desk. Draco sat backwards in the chair by the desk, his chin resting on his folded arms. Shadows under his eyes seemed darker than they should be in the dim, flickering light. Harry leaned forward as dread filled his belly.

"What's up?" he finally asked.

The blonde curled his fingers in his hair and stared dejectedly at the floor.

"Father thinks I befriended you for my personal advancement," he muttered. "I've advanced enough in occlumency that I can lie to him completely. He trusts my act because I'm careful to tell him things about you and the others, little things that really don't hurt anything, that he could probably learn if he asked someone else, but he thinks I'm still loyal to his cause."

Harry nodded and petted Kilat, who had grown agitated on his shoulder.

"_This wizard is unsettled," _she whispered. _"He teeters at the verge of lashing out." _

"I know how much you've sacrificed to be my friend, Draco," Harry said gently. "If it becomes to much, it's okay if you quit. He's still your dad, and he still loves you, no matter how twisted his political ideas might be."

The boy sneered and shook his head.

"It's not that I regret my decision last year. If anything, I'm vindicated. It's just knowing what he's capable of and seeing him _do _it are entirely different things." The boy's cool grey eyes glinted as he met Harry's concerned gaze. "Father's unhappy with Weasley. Something to do with a muggle protection act and ministry raids. He hasn't been able to buy himself a guarantee _his_ house won't be raided, so he's taken the matter into his own hands."

Draco took a deep breath and pulled on his ruffled hair.

"I overheard he and my mother arguing one night. It was about something he's doing to the school. It's going to kill people, probably muggleborns, and somehow, he's going to frame Arthur Weasley for it. But the thing is, Mother didn't think Father could control it. She thought it could hurt me. He…"

The boy choked and Harry moved to brace his shoulder.

"He _tortured_ my mother because she wouldn't agree with him. He told her I'd be safe because I'd be assisting him in he venture. I'd be aware of the situation and, therefore, protected."

"I'm sorry, Draco," Harry whispered. He allowed his friend a few moments to collect himself before encouraging him to continue. "Did he ever tell you?"

"Last night," he confirmed. "After my trunk was packed, he told me I should expect a very exciting year, but that I should be careful not to go anywhere alone. He said a great purge is coming to Hogwarts. He said…" The boy gulped and gripped Harry's arm. "He said I shan't have to sully myself with the company of 'that uppity mudblood' anymore."

Harry felt sick.

"Hermione?"

Draco nodded.

"And other muggleborns."

"Your elf, Dobby, came to warn me, Draco," Harry breathed after a while. "I think he knows what it is your dad's doing. Or, at least, enough to be really worried about you and me. He even stole my letters to make me think you all didn't care for me, after all, so that I wouldn't want to come back."

The blonde blinked and his face crumpled in confusion.

"Just… What?"

"Yeah. Didn't say it was logical. He was very concerned about our protection," Harry explained. "Did you notice anything odd before you left for school?"

"Yes, now that you mention it," Draco grumbled. "My books kept disappearing. And I had to get my robes fitted twice because the first set somehow got shrunk, and then, on the first, Father had to side-along me to the platform because the floos were malfunctioning. They kept rerouting me to my bedroom."

A strange look came over his face.

"What father's doing… Dobby thinks Mother's right about the danger."

Harry nodded.

"Do you think you could summon him at some point, without Lucius finding out?" he asked. "In the meantime, do you want to talk to my mum and dad?."

"Yes," Draco said with a note of desperation. "To both questions. Right away if that's okay."

Harry smiled.

"Sure. Dad loves waking to new information."

Draco gave Harry an incredulous look as he stepped into his slipper and retrieved the invisibility cloak from the trunk. Kilat slid forward to drop into the pocket of Harry's pyjama shirt as he held it open for her.

"And what about your mother?"

The dark-haired boy grimaced before throwing the cloak over them both.

"_She's_ an entirely different case," he grimaced.

Harry led his friend through the darkened hallways without a wand, allowing the dimmed torches, and later starlit windows, to light their path. Draco jumped at every noise, every squeak of restless armour and whisper of a passing ghost.

"Nearly there," Harry breathed as they turned down a narrow passage on the second floor.

The corridor contained nothing but floor-to-ceiling portraits of old witches and wizards and inverted cone-shaped lanterns hanging from the arched ceiling. Harry began counting under his breath as the boys crept up the passageway.

"…Here!" he finally breathed, grabbing Draco's sleeve. "Number ten."

They stopped before a painting of two young children on a wide, cushioned swing festooned in flowers. They blinked sleepily at Harry as he pulled the cloak off.

"What's the password?" the little boy yawned, stretching out on the elaborate bench. "Quick, or I'll wake the others."

"I need the Doctor," Harry whispered.

The boy's eyes blinked closed, and the portrait swung outwards to admit the two pyjama clad Slytherins.

The Doctor and Rose's apartment had been a point of contingency with the headmaster upon the negotiation of their teaching contract. Dumbledore had held several reservations about giving the couple married quarters, considering their newly acquired property only half an hour's walk away (or a few moments' floo to the teacher's lounge), but the Doctor and Rose insisted.

It _was_ a boarding school, they argued, and the whole _point_ of teaching was to remain available if Harry should happen to come across further trials within the castle's walls – A possibility Professor Dumbledore could not deny. So, though he evaded the subject until the very last week of August, the headmaster was forced to consent on the grounds such accommodations were always provided to the full-time staff of Hogwarts.

The Doctor and Rose had taken full advantage. With the apartment's private floo connected to receive only from their Hogsmeade house, they accommodated not only their own needs, but Jenny's, as well. She had been _most_ pleased to learn she would be spending most nights within the walls of Hogwarts, even if she didn't get to see much of the castle itself except on weekends.

Harry wondered, as the portrait swung shut behind them, how the students would react to _her_ presence.

"Do we just wake them up?" Draco whispered as Harry hung his cloak on a freestanding wrack near the door.

"Yup," Harry said in a normal tone. "Jenny sleeps like a rock, so you don't have to whisper. C'mon."

The boys stepped beyond the short, stone-floored entry, and lights sprang to life. They stood in a modest, but comfortably furnished sitting room. The boys faced a large bay window fitted with a bench and several overstuffed cushions. Pale floral fabric in complementary colours upholstered two facing sofas, an armchair, and an ottoman, all arranged asymmetrically before a chestnut-framed fireplace burning merrily in the centre of the room. The walls, by magic or paint, wore a cheery, pale blue. A small kitchen stood visible through an arched chestnut doorway off to the right, and two doors led out of the sitting room from either side of the fireplace. One held a sign that read, _Jenny Renette_, and the other, _Mr & Mrs_.

"I'll just sit," Draco murmured before flopping limply into the armchair.

Harry nodded and knocked on his parents' door. Apparently, they hadn't been sleeping because his father appeared in the doorway a moment later, his hair ruffled and his glasses on. The Doctor's eyebrows shot up under his fringe as he looked down at his son.

"Harry? What are you doing here?"

"Draco's got something he'd like to tell you," Harry said, barely restraining a laugh.

His dad had put on his dressing gown backwards. The Doctor followed his son's gaze and rolled his eyes as he corrected his clothing.

"Rose," he called into the bedroom. "It's Harry and Draco. They've got something to tell us."

A moment later, they sat around the fireplace with steaming mugs of hot cocoa courtesy the Doctor's new automatic-cocoa tap (a combination of clever heating charms, a self-refilling heat-controlled dark chocolate reservoir, a temperature-modulated self-refilling milk reservoir, a self-refilling peppermint-infused sugar dispenser, and several rather whimsical-looking copper pipes). Draco's bloodshot eyes seemed to droop a little less as the hot chocolate hit his stomach, and he visibly relaxed in his seat while the Smiths waited for him to speak. He was grateful for the interlude to gather his thoughts.

"How's Jenny like the place?" Harry asked. "Did the distance transport spell work?"

"She loves it," Rose replied. "And it worked beautifully. Daddy just drew the rune array there, I drew it here, had the elves arranged the walls and dimensions to match her bedroom, and zap!"

"Quickest move I've ever performed," the Doctor smiled.

"Wish we could have used it on home, but it was too far away," Rose said regretfully.

Draco put his drained mug on the coffee table, then, and the other three turned to him.

It was easier to tell it than the first time, he thought, but it was still difficult. He couldn't bring himself to look at Harry's parents' worried, grave faces when he finished. Instead, Draco stared into his mug, which had refilled itself at some point during his speech. He took a long draught, delighting in the slow creep of warmth down his throat and through his extremities, and focused on the sensation rather than the fear and stress attempting to work its way into his tear ducts. A warm hand on his knee made him twitch in his chair.

"Is your mum okay?" Rose asked gently, withdrawing her touch.

"Yes. Dobby told me he took care of her."

"Can she get away from him?" the Doctor said carefully. "What I've read about pureblood matrimony wasn't very clear on the nature of marriage in the legal sense."

The boy shook his head, and his shoulders slumped.

"Depends on the contract, but in my mother's case, it was probably pretty binding. She used to be a Black, and _they're_ no different from Malfoys."

The Doctor and Rose shared a glance, but didn't press the issue.

"Well, I'm glad you came to us," Rose sighed. "You're always welcome to."

Before he could protest, she wrapped Draco in a warm hug. He stiffened at first, but after a moment he could do nothing more than lean into the embrace. His own parents never touched him if they could help it. His mother, he knew, hadn't been raised in a very loving home, herself. His father was happy to grant him a handshake and a nod on his birthday and holidays if he was especially pleased with him.

Draco clung to Rose for a long time, and the Doctor and Harry left them alone until the boy's shoulders had ceased their erratic shuddering. The sun had just broken over the horizon when the Slytherins departed the Smith quarters and snuck back to their dormitory, a couple of pepper-up potions in hand.

"_Are your nights always so active?"_ Kilat asked as Harry rummaged under his bed for his toiletries.

"_Not always, no, but more often than I'd like,"_ he yawned. _"You want to come with me for a bath?"_

"_I thought we agreed I would accompany you everywhere lest I get eaten by one of your many pet predators. Also, your outside pockets are not as warm as I would like."_

Harry rolled his eyes and obligingly summoned the little wooden bathtub he'd transfigured over the holiday for that very purpose. Snakes did not like soap, after all, and God forbid if Kilat didn't get a bath when her human did.

* * *

A/N: Thank you all for your patience for this chapter. Surprise surprise, random job offer to my fiancee, a move across four hundred miles with a teeny car, and a job hunt's interrupted this process. Updates, until further notice, will happen at least once a month, maybe every other week if I can swing it.

Apologies, and I hope it'll pick back up once my schedule settles again. As always, I enjoy your comments and appreciate the time you take to read and review.


	4. Professors Smith & Smith

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated.

A/N: Sorry, again, for the wait, everyone! And thank you so much for your kind wishes. The job hunt's hectic, but I'm hopeful something will crop up, soon! Thanks for your continued interest and for taking the time to read.

This chapter's going to be a bit different from previous ones, and a little more akin to the beginning of the first book. I thought the most efficient way to introduce the professors to Hogwarts would be through some vignettes showing each of our favourite characters in their first day back. They also lay some groundwork on how the rest of the year's going to go, so I hope you enjoy.

* * *

_**Not Not-Human Book Two: All Hail the Time Lord's Son**_

Chapter Four – Professors Smith & Smith

* * *

_**2 September 2013**_

_**At a Much More Reasonable Hour – 2 September 2013**_

Jenny Renette yawned hugely as she blinked open her eyes. She shivered a little beneath her fluffy duvet, and marvelled for a moment at her unfamiliar surroundings.

Unlike in her Sutton bedroom, an aged, vaulted ceiling soared above her bed. Thick, luxurious fabric hung in the spaces between the ribs (to keep it from being too draughty, her dad had said) and flowed to the floor behind the shelving, armoire, and other furniture pushed against the walls to make space for the massive four-poster bed.

Jenny had never wanted to be a princess – she rather thought the girls at school were silly for thinking that way – but, after spending her first night in a _real_ enchanted castle, she couldn't help feeling that way. Hogwarts was truly magical, beyond the sense by which wizards meant it.

She smiled a little to herself as she stood and slipped into her dressing gown. The small living room already crackled with a merry fire, and Rose sat on the loveseat sipping chilli-spiced cocoa. She had a small whipped-cream moustache on her upper lip, but hadn't noticed, as absorbed as she was in the _Daily Prophet_.

"Morning, Mum," Jenny said, hopping into the loveseat beside her. "Anything interesting?"

"Not much," she said while absently wrapping an arm around Jenny's waist in a lateral hug. "Usual nonsense. This Rita Skeeter woman is horrid. There's an awful, fawning piece about the wonderful Professor Lockhart."

"Didn't Daddy say you two would probably make the paper?"

The Doctor poked his head out of the kitchen, a bit of bacon clenched between his teeth.

"Too early, yet," he mumbled around the nibblet. It'll take them at least today to get a good enough story together. I'm sure the _Prophet_ wouldn't pass up a chance to report on the famous Harry Potter's parents."

"Will _I_ be in the story?"

Mr and Mrs Tyler exchanged a wary look.

"Darling," Rose said gently. "We don't _want_ to be in the paper, and we definitely don't want you to be, either. I know magic seems like this wonderful thing – and it is, don't get me wrong – but wizards and witches are just like any other person. There are good and bad ones, and unfortunately, some of those bad ones don't like Harry, and wouldn't think twice about hurting his kid sister."

Jenny shifted in her seat and pouted.

"So its dangerous?"

The Doctor nodded.

"That's why you're not to wander the castle without us," the Doctor said. "Even though it's a school, there are plenty of grown-up idiots who won't take kindly to us being here."

The little girl accepted the cup of cocoa and the plate of eggs and bacon her father offered her. She contemplated the breakfast with more solemnity than usual to a child of five, nearly six.

"Is that how Harry ended up in the hospital in the spring?"

Rose sighed and pulled her daughter into her lap.

"You're very perceptive, and that's good, but we didn't tell you this to make you worry. We just want you to be aware."

"But Mummy, I don't understand. If people want to hurt Harry, why don't we go somewhere else? Isn't there a magical school in France?"

The Doctor sat on the floor and shoved another piece of bacon in his mouth, smiling wryly.

"Now, Jenny, don't you think we would have gone if Harry had wanted to?"

Rose poked her youngest in the ribs to urge her to eat and slowly began detangling Jenny's long, red hair with a gentle touch.

"We told him we'd leave if he wanted, but he told us no. He said it'd be running, and that it wouldn't be right to run."

"Why not?" the girl said around a mouthful of eggs.

"Tylers never run because they're scared, and they help when they can. Harry thinks he can help."

That, it seemed, allayed the little girl's worries enough that she went through breakfast and dressing for school with no further questions on the subject. So, when the Doctor returned from escorting her through the floo and apparating her to Seaton House School, she did so in her usual cheer. Her parents, on the other hand, mulled over the girl's questions long through the morning, and both considered, again, whether they had made the right choice.

But it was the first day of classes for the newly minted professors, too, and so they had little time to linger on those worries as the bells tolled over the grounds, and a thousand feet wandered this way and that through the halls of the castle toward their classrooms.

"_Allons-y_, Professor Smith," the Doctor crowed, looping his arm through his wife's.

"Indeed, Professor Smith," Rose smiled.

* * *

Pepper-up potions, in addition to providing near immediate cure for all sorts of non-magical colds and viruses, acted as a stimulant and allergy remedy. Its only side effects were a rather dramatic issuance of steam from the patient's ears and slight mania not uncommon to any stimulant. Well, if one didn't count the increased thirst some experienced, due to the potions extremely spicy flavour.

Whoever named it "pepper-up" hadn't done so in jest. Harry had looked at the ingredients once and discovered it used a whole chopped Bhut jolokia (or ghost) chilli for each two-litre batch, in addition to a gram of fresh ginger, honey, a quarter pound brick of dark chocolate, one gram of shavings from Nux Myristica, two gumweeds, and a fluid ounce of dragon's blood.

So, despite having only a couple hours of sleep each (perhaps less in Draco's case), the boys were the first to arrive at breakfast that morning and the most excited to be there. Daphne shot them odd looks as they competed to see who could make the most impressive construction out of bacon. Blaise and Tracy ignored them, as they were quite used to expecting odd things from the two boys. The upper years ignored them, too, but only because they tried to effect an uninterested air in all things concerning Harry Potter and the scion of House Malfoy (at least while surrounded by other houses).

At the end of breakfast, Harry and Draco raced back to the dorms to discover another surprise.

"We don't have _any_ classes with Gryffindor," Draco said as Harry fetched his books. "All of them are with Hufflepuff, according to Nott. I don't think that's happened in years."

"Only a couple," Harry corrected. "A prefect told me last year Dumbledore rearranged things for an experiment. Maybe he's done."

The blonde sneered.

"Right. And Kilat's an ugly toad."

The snake poked her head out of Harry's collar to glare at the boy, hissing angrily.

"_Sarcasm," _Harry explained quickly.

Despite her promise not to bite anyone he liked, he wasn't sure the oath would extend to those who insulted her vanity. She was exceedingly proud of her shimmering scales and serpentine beauty.

"_It had better be,"_ she hissed back.

Draco shuddered.

"You have _got_ to be less casual about that," he grumbled. "Even among Slytherins, it's a gift to fear. Aside from Salazar, You-Know-Who's the last known wizard in Britain to use it in the last millennia."

"Merlin was, too," Harry complained.

"Yes, but Merlin was born in the seven hundreds, and most people regard him as the founder of our society. He could have destroyed the rest of Europe and most of Asia, and no one would care to remember."

"All hail Dark Lord Merlin," Harry murmured wryly.

Draco laughed a little giddily and led the way out of the dormitories and toward their classroom.

Second year potions began much as first year had, except Hufflepuff took the place of Gryffindor House and Professor Snape acted less crabbily, at least by his standards. Of course, that didn't spare the Hufflepuffs from his acidic tongue.

Still, Harry found the experience far more enjoyable than the previous year. Hermione joined Harry while Daphne partnered with Draco for the duration of the double period, and so the class became nearly _fun – _Not normally the case under Professor Snape's ever mindful glower.

It was more than could be said about the defence lesson, which followed directly after lunch.

Harry shared a look with Draco as they entered the bright, airy classroom. A skeleton of a juvenile dragon (affectionately named 'Henry') still hung from the ceiling, and any number of drawings and diagrams of dangerous creatures still adorned the walls. The same few duelling dummies lay, badly in need of repair, beneath the windows on the east side of the room; however, the new additions felt so foreign and awkward that it felt like an entirely different environment.

From every flat surface, the same smiling and winking face peered at the entering students. Harry shuddered a little at a few of the most horrible depictions of their famous professor. Draco smirked and mimed one of the largest portraits, in which their parading professor winked and grinned while swinging a sword a little too big for him. The figure would wobble dangerously upon his perch before threatening to fall sideways out of the frame.

"Now that was a lovely memory!" a too-cheery voice crowed.

Draco immediately took his seat and Hermione tried not to laugh on Harry's other side.

"The painter, you see, decided he knew better than I how a hero should be depicted, but when I attempted to use my sword for the portrait – the very blade I used to slay the Werewolf of Maramures – the painter said it was too small. The engorgement charm he put on it was cast a little overzealously, but he insisted it was the perfect size to represent the weight of my duty as a fighter against the dark forces."

Many of the girls in the class had taken on a dreamy look to their eyes, Hermione included, though Daphne and Tracy, Harry was glad to see, remained unimpressed.

"When he finished with the likeness, he felt badly about his mistake, but I found it so very entertaining, I decided to leave it as is. Besides, the blade now fits far more impressively upon any wall."

He flourished to the highly polished sword mounted on the wall above his desk, which glinted so brightly Harry swore there must be a charm on it.

"Anyhow, I hope to have the time to tell you exactly how each of these portraits came to be as we explore, together, how to best fight dark creatures during the course of the year," Lockhart said as he strolled to the front of the classroom.

"I am, of course, Gilderoy Lockhart, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly_'s most charming smile award, Order of Merlin, third class, and honorary member of the Dark Force Defence League," he said, turning with a flourish of his lilac-coloured cape.

"Let's start class with a little post-holiday exam to see if you've read. Nothing too difficult, I assure you!"

The class groaned, and it only got worse from there.

Harry stared at the parchment before him incredulously and glanced up to meet Draco's dumfounded expression.

"What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favourite colour?" the blonde whispered. "Is he serious?"

"Have you read question nine, yet?" Harry hissed back.

The question, written in crisp blackletter, asked, _What is Gilderoy Lockhart's ideal birthday gift?_

The classroom, aside from Hermione, whose quill scratched madly across her parchment, seemed to have fallen into a state of shock. Gradually, however, when it became apparent the exam wasn't a joke, nearly everyone set to filling out the paper.

Harry amused himself by making doodles in the margins and white spaces of the parchment until the professor called time, and then tried very hard not to laugh or grimace as the man went through their answers aloud.

Hermione, to no one's surprise, scored perfectly. Lockhart awarded her five points for her memorisation skills, but commented on one student's complete inability to write even one correct answer (Harry was sure that was meant for him).

Finally, however, it was over, and the kids left the classroom to walk down to the first floor for Transfiguration.

* * *

Rose smiled easily at her students, who hesitantly filed into the room to look around in surprise and confusion at their surroundings.

The room reserved for the class previously known as Muggle Studies had not changed in nearly forty years, at least according to anyone's knowledge. There were once neat rows of desks facing an austere blackboard and a display of muggle artefacts (including a torch, several batteries, some plugs, and a rubber duck), but it seemed Professor Roselyn Smith had effected a transformation on the place.

The windows, generally shaded against the afternoon sun, stood open to allow the light, late summer breeze into the room. Long, pale-coloured curtains with black geometric patterns fluttered around each casement, and light flooded the space. A large, round carpet occupied the centre of the room, around which several bean bags and floor cushions sat in a riot of colours and shapes. A large, flat black screen hovered to the side of the arrangement of seating, a series of little blue lights blinking lazily on its edge. A mechanism with a lot of gears and cogs sat beneath it, and a ton of multicoloured wires connected them. And while, the blackboard was still there, of course, but Rose had painstakingly taken several multicoloured paint markers to its surface. It read:

_Welcome to the Study of Non-Magical Cultures! _

A squiggly, playfully embellished arrow pointed to the other side of the board.

_Class Goal: To understand what separates Muggle and Magical. _

"Come on in," Rose said, grinning at the kids' faces. "Take a seat wherever. I think this class is going to be very different from how you remember it, those of you who've had it before."

A Ravenclaw boy blushed and grinned sheepishly.

"We're all third-years, Professor. So none of us have had Muggle Studies, yet. It's just not what we were expecting."

Rose laughed as she ushered the last few kids in. The majority were Ravenclaws, with a smattering of Slytherins, Hufflepuffs, and Gryffindors.

"Well, that's probably going to be the norm for this year," she quipped, beaming around at them all. "I'm Professor Smith, but since we've got the other one running around, you can call me Professor Rose, or Mrs Smith. I'm pleased to meet you!"

No one said anything.

"O.K. Right. This is going to be extremely boring if you don't participate, and my husband's going to take the Mickey out of me if he hears that, so let's try again."

She smoothed a few flyaway hairs back from her face and shed her outer robe to put her hands on her hips. Her green eyes surveyed the lethargic classroom.

"Hello, I'm Rose, and I'm pleased to meet you," she repeated. Her gaze flew to the closet student. "What's your name?"

"E-Edgecombe, ma'am," the girl stuttered. "Marietta Edgecombe."

"And what's your favourite thing to do?"

"Pardon, Professor?" Marietta frowned.

Rose smiled at her expectantly.

"I'm asking you what your favourite hobby is. Mine is travelling."

"Well," she said. "My grandmother taught me to knit, and I've always enjoyed it, but I also like to read."

"I'm glad to have you, Marietta. Now who's next?"

One by one, each student introduced him or herself, and by the time they reached the last person, everyone had quite relaxed into their chosen bean bags or floor cushions.

"Excellent," Rose said, clapping her hands together. "Now, I've been reading through the syllabi and materials of the previous professors, and I'm very sad to say the information you kids have been getting is about a hundred years out-of-date."

Several students groaned.

"But I've got my older brother's text!" said a Slytherin girl.

Rose shrugged.

"Sorry, Miss Meads, and anyone else who falls into this category, but you'll have to buy or borrow a copy of this year's text. The old book's rubbish."

That put most of the grumbling to rest, especially in the Ravenclaw students. Rose smiled and strode to the floating screen.

"So, you've seen the class goal on the board, and I want you to think about that while I give you the first demonstration of the year," she began, calling them all to order. "What is it, really, that separates non-magical from magical? Think about your answer, and pay close attention."

She crouched and twisted off a little cap on the reservoir connected to the device beneath the screen.

"Does anyone know what petrol is?"

A Hufflepuff hesitantly raised her hand.

"Miss Macavoy?" Rose asked. "Heidi, right?"

"Yes, ma'am. Isn't it sort of like liquid firewood or coal?"

Rose grinned and poured a beaker of shimmery yellowish fluid into the reservoir.

"Very good. It is a fuel refined from very, very old carbon. Wood, when it's compressed and aged a very long time, becomes coal, which people then mine from underground. Petrol is a refined version of oil, which goes under the same process, but from animal and less plant matter. Non-magical people drill for it, and they refine it to get this stuff."

"So, you burn it?" Zacharias Smith grunted.

"Yes. But more than that," Rose said. "Everyone knows how steam power works, right?"

Nearly everyone nodded.

"Well, the way wizards and witches use magic to sustain fires to power steam engines, and other small mechanics, the majority of non-magical people use petrol or coal. This thing here is a generator, and it's going to generate electricity by burning the petrol."

Rose capped the reservoir and pulled hard on a little handle connected to a cord. The machine whined a little and sputtered, but didn't start. She pulled again, a little faster, and this time, the generator came to life. It began huffing and shivering and the students leaned in. Some recoiled a little from the smell from the fumes.

The woman grinned at their reactions and pushed one of the little lights on the far edge of the screen, and soon, no one was paying any attention to the generator, as a video explaining the very workings of the thing began.

Rose sat among her students while the video went on, talking about the inner workings of the generator, and how generators were used across the world to power electrical devices like the television, cars, homes, and more. When it was over, the students seemed more confused than ever, however. Zacharias, for one, seemed angry.

"Can I explain anything?" Rose invited innocently, sitting at the edge of the circle nearest the generator.

The boy grimaced.

"How is that at all possible. I mean, Muggles are smart, sure, but how can they even figure that out without magic?"

"I was hoping you'd ask," she smiled. "I've been talking to the headmaster, and I have a proposition for all my classes. I know you all have been told a lot of interesting things about non-magical people, so here's what I was thinking."

She paused and played with a few buttons on the side of the screen again, and a new image flashed into being. An air ship smoothly took off and soared gracefully into the sky on screen, before the scene cut to the interior of the cabin, where a pretty stewardess led the camera crew further into the airship.

"I'm sure you've seen these in the sky every now and again. It's a favourite in non-magical transportation. How many of you would like to ride in one?"

Nearly all the hands went up.

"Well, the first part of the year, we're going to be focusing on sciences and mechanics, the things that have allowed non-magical people to achieve things just like that. And, if you all perform well enough in discussions, and on your quizzes, we'll take a ride in one of those. And, if you behave well on the trip, I won't give you a final exam, at least, it won't be one of those long written nonsense tests."

"Excellent. So, here's your homework. I want you to read chapter one and six," she said as she passed around a box of biros. "Take these. Extra points to anyone who can explain how it works after reading the chapter."

She waited while they each took a mechanical pen and smiled when they started packing up.

"Before you go, I want to share a secret with you," Rose said conspiratorially.

Many of the students, especially the boys, looked intrigued.

"I was always rubbish in school. Never liked it. I'm going to try my best to make this experience fun for you, so, unlike other professors, I'm not going to be grading your homework, or even giving you all that many quizzes," she grinned. "You'll be graded on how you perform during in-class activities, which is based entirely on the reading. So, with that in mind, off you go."

* * *

"History. History."

Thirty some very bank faces stared back at the Doctor as he paced in front of his desk, the tail of his light gray robes sweeping the flagstones behind him.

"History, history, history, his-stor-ee…"

The professor paused and blinked.

"Why do I always do that? Never mind. Moving on – " he grinned and smiled at his students, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Hello everyone. I'm Professor Smith, or Mr Smith, or Mr Rose Smith."

Several students snickered.

"Don't laugh. It may very well happen to you one day, if you're lucky. Well, assuming you like that sort of thing. Well, if you've got a good personality or you're especially good looking. Well…"

Several more giggled.

"Anyhow, don't say I didn't warn you. So, right, we're here to learn about wizarding history, is that right?"

He didn't wait for anyone to answer.

"I am told my predecessor, the honourable Professor Binns, liked to discuss the Goblin Wars, is that right?"

A few students grimaced.

"What year is this?"

"Fourth year, sir," Fred Weasley laughed. "Not that it really matters."

"If you like, Professor," said George Weasley. "You can just let us have a kip."

"Never!" the Doctor crowed.

With that, the professor turned in a swirl of his light summer robes to catch the edge of the freestanding blackboard with a flourish. The spinning surface flipped nearly 180 degrees, revealing a three-dimensional scale model of the UK, projected in light above the chalkboard's altered surface.

A great creaking filled the class as everyone leaned forward.

"My dear friends," the Doctor began, "For the last three years, I'm afraid you've been horribly wronged. You've been led to believe history is this stagnant, dusty old thing! That times past lay irrelevant to the world around you today, and if you haven't, you've been discouraged in believing this very important truth.

"History is fun! Amazing! And I'm going to show you."

The Doctor grinned a little maniacally and prodded the hologram with his wand. The image shifted as it zoomed in upon London, until the city sparkled impressively before the class in all its glory.

"Everyone stand up!" the Doctor bellowed.

The class hastily scrambled from their seats, and with a sweep of his wand, the Doctor had the desks and chairs (and the kids' belongings) neatly stacked and sorted against the walls. He then unhooked the swivelling board from its stand and pushed it to the centre of the room, where he proceeded to enlarge it until the students barely managed to stand about its edges.

The image filled the room now, so vibrant and solid that it was hard to believe the street before them was a model at all. They all goggled at it, amazed to watch tiny light-people walking among the city's streets.

"It is the twentieth of June, 1215. Not even a week ago, King John of England was forced to sign the Magna Carta at the Water Meadow at Runnymeade, but what most Barons failed to realize is John had no intention of following through because…"

The Doctor paused, looking around at their faces.

"Because?" he prompted.

A Hufflepuff boy blinked and frowned.

"…Because the Goblins had bribed the muggle king in exchange for muggle lands after their rebellion?"

"And who are you?" the Doctor asked.

"Diggory, Professor," the boy said with a bashful grin.

"Mr Diggory, you get ten points for remembering something from that idiot – I mean, who in their right mind keeps a _ghost_ on as staff? But no, you're completely wrong. Well, he was completely wrong. You're just misled. It's very clear in your text, and in history, what really happened.

"The thing the Barons didn't realize is that John had a court wizard."

A girl raised her hand in the Doctor's periphery, but he shook her head at her and grinned.

"Yes, I know – _What was a wizard doing working for a non-magical king?_ But remember the date. The Statute of Secrecy wasn't signed until 1689. The Wizengamot, however, has existed in some form since the early ten hundreds. After the Norman William the Conqueror earned his epithet in 1066, he officially gathered around him the wisest scholars and nobles he could muster, and created a council. This included the precursor to the Wizengamot, and also the non-magical parliament. William's court wizard was a Sir Armond Malfoy, who very helpfully formed the first council of wizards.

"And who wouldn't want a court wizard? The tradition carried on, as you see…"

The scene changed until the class stared at the projection of a richly clad king clasping arms with a man robed in deep burgundy.

"…And that's how we get to Lord Heston Godelot," the Doctor continued, gesturing to the robed man. "Godelot adored power. He enjoyed power of the wizard council, and under the Magna Carta, the council's power would become greater while his would decline. After all, even if he led the council, if his sole purpose was to advise a king who couldn't without permission, well, you see Godelot's problem."

"But there was definitely a Goblin rebellion that year," protested one of the Hufflepuffs, flipping through his textbook. "It says so right here."

"Yes. But if you go to page 129, you'll see it was _Godelot_ who betrayed the Council of Wizards and the Great Council, now called Parliament, by promising the Goblins – falsely, of course – that King John would grant _them_ their own sovereign soil if they agreed to go to war for him."

"But…" a girl said slowly, frowning as Godelot met with goblin warriors in the projection.

"Yes, miss-"

"Stimpton, Sir. The Magna Carta was a basis of just treatment under the law. Why would the goblins-"

"The language only included any _freeman_," the Doctor dismissed. "And that's what Godelot used to persuade the Goblins to fight for John. And so, the first Goblin Rebellion began."

The scene shifted again, exchanged for one of absolute horror. Wizards, soldiers, and goblins fought bitterly across a gore-strewn landscape. For the first time, sound accompanied the projection: a cacophony of fear and anger beneath the noise of sizzling spells and the clash of steel. Several students gasped and backed away from the too-real carnage.

"This was the result: Wizards, non-wizards, and goblins fighting because petty little men wanted power, the goblins – poor fools – caught up in it all because of a lie."

Gryffindors and Ravenclaws watched in awe and horror as the scene continued, until, gratefully, it faded and two figures stood at the centre of the still-bloody, but now quiet, field.

"Enter Robin of Shrewsbury, better known as Robin, son of Locksly of Sherwood, also 'Robin Hood.' He was a young man, whose mother had been a witch and his father had been a Baron. Both had died, that day, defending their village from King John's might. He came upon a lone goblin wandering the emptied battlefield, and nearly struck the figure down, but something stopped him."

The smaller figure turned, and everyone gasped.

"That's a-"

"Girl!" George finished for his twin.

"Wrong!" the Doctor reprimanded. "That's a goblin warrioress. Hedwig Curved-Claw. She was a future matriarch, a princess, if you will, and her brothers had been wrongfully pulled into this war with the hope of escaping the humans' unfettered hostility."

He paused while Robin of Shrewsberry approached the goblin, who only looked at him fiercely as the young man raised his sword.

"Now imagine," the professor continued. "You've just lost your family to this war. You probably saw it happen, or saw the aftermath. You're furious! Horribly sad! But more than that, you want it to stop."

Robin stopped and sat heavily in the muck. The goblin sat with him.

"But these two were special! They recognized killing each other wouldn't solve anything. And they were smart enough to see why this it was happening. So, they worked together."

The image blinked out, and the students stared about in confusion.

"For homework," the Doctor said, "You will read pages 900 and 901, the Magna Carta, in its entirety. Make notes. If you're interested, there's a small biography for Robin Hood and his friend, Hedwig, on 143."

The bell rang, and everyone filed out, slightly shell-shocked from their first experience with the Doctor, and somewhat confused at what to think of him, at all.

"Well," he said to himself as he re-shrunk the board and returned it to its stand. "Not too bad for a first, day's lesson."

* * *

A/N: Thanks again for your patience. Hopefully, I can start ramping up to post every other week or better, again, but until then, I'm glad you're sticking with me. Love, Forensica X


	5. Babes Among Wolves

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated.

A/N: I think most chapters are going to be around this length. This one worked itself out fairly quickly, so with any luck, we may have another one up sometime soon.

Q: Malfoy, court wizard?

A: This is likely canon. Although JK never mentions it explicitly, the details she provides makes it possible to trace Malfoy's family tree back to William the Conqueror, and the name is French in origin. The part about the Wizengamot is entirely my imagining, but not improbable. It has to start somewhere, and probably the population wasn't great enough or organised enough to maintain its own between when Rome fell and William took over.

Q: Robin Hood and Hedwig?

A: If you've kept up with the original Doctor, now on his twelfth version (13th or 14th regen, I can never keep up with that), he just visited Robin Hood in our reality. In 10.2's parallel reality, King (not Prince) John's war went a lot differently. It is as the Doctor describes. In HP and the Sorcerer's Stone, JK says Harry names his owl after a 'Hedwig' he found in his history text, likely after one of the saint Hedwigs canonised by the Roman Catholic Church. But again, we're in a parallel reality, so for us, Hedwig was a goblin warrioress and matriarch who assisted Robin Hood in restoring order to Britain.

Q: Did you know Dudley is Doctor 2's grandkid?

A: I didn't! That's a lovely bit of trivia. I always kind of wondered whether JK was a Whovian growing up, because a lot of the magical things in her universe resonate with the Doctor's. Bigger-on-the-inside tents and all that. I'm sure, if she was, she giggled to herself when she saw the casting decision for Dudley.

* * *

_**Not Not-Human Book Two: All Hail the Time Lord's Son**_

Chapter Five – Babes Among Wolves

* * *

_**Saturday, 7 September 2013**_

"Poor Pomona," sighed Aurora Sinistra. "I saw Lockhart managed to mangle half your mandrakes."

She gave the woman across her a sympathetic smile as she poured her a cup of steaming tea.

"That's not the whole of it either," the jolly professor harrumphed. "The rest were so upset, their squalling put down three of my students."

"But how?"

"They broke their pots!" Professor Sprout exclaimed. "Never in all my time here as a teacher or a student have I seen such an upset."

"That prat again?" Professor Vector grumbled as she came into the staffroom. "We deal with him enough at meals and during this stupid exercise. Why give him _more_ of your attention?"

The Astronomy professor grimaced.

"Because my other inclinations aren't as admirable."

"Less admirable than gossiping about how much we dislike the ponce?" Septima laughed, sliding into a seat across from the other two women. "Now I have to know."

"I'm sure you can guess," Pomona giggled, waggling her eyebrows. "They're certainly causing a stir."

"You mean the professors Smith?"

Aurora nodded, taking a sip of her tea.

"Who else?" she admitted. "They're very engaging."

"Very handsome, you mean," Septima whispered conspiratorially. "The both of them."

"Oh, you!" Pomona laughed.

"You've thought it, too, Mona," the Arithmancy professor said innocently. "Anyhow, I'm glad they're here, however unorthodox they are. I've never seen the student eager to go to either of those classes, before, and I daresay they both know a good deal more than their predecessors ever did about their subjects."

"Did you hear about Roselyn's proposal, though?" Sinistra said with no small amount of awe and trepidation. "An outing for all her classes! How does she propose to fund such a thing?"

Professor Vector tossed her dark hair over her shoulder.

"I imagine she'll put in a request for part of the discretionary fund."

Pomona scoffed.

"Lucius Malfoy won't like that."

The women shared a long look at the thought of the most active school regent.

"Well," Septima quipped. "Perhaps it's time his little Christmas bonus was put to its originally intended use."

The door at the end of the long, oval-shaped room opened again to admit Flitwick, who smiled jovially at the ladies before climbing atop the stack of books helpfully balanced in one of the seats near their end of the table.

"Good morning!" he chirruped. "Were you talking about me?"

"No, dear man," laughed Pomona. "We were just remarking on the changes certain members of our staff have wrought on the school."

"Oh!" Flitwick gasped, so enthused he nearly toppled off his books. "Speaking of that, have you seen Potter and Granger's zeppelin?"

"What in the world is that?" Sprout frowned.

Vector drew her wand over the surface of the table, outlining the shape in scorch marks.

"It's a flying ship muggles use to travel long distances," she explained to her older friend. "It's not as fast as the top racing brooms, but quite a lot more comfortable, from what I hear."

"And two young children are building such a thing?" Pomona said incredulously.

"Not a full-sized one, but a model, surely." Septima said.

"Not quite a model," Fillius disagreed. "It seems they intend to let young Miss Renette pilot it."

"She's a babe," Sinistra protested.

"And she'll be fine," the Doctor interjected, loping through the open door. "My lovely wife's supervising the project, keeping it fair and all that. And Renette's more than eager to try. She's already got a broom, after all."

"If you say so, John," Aurora sighed, blushing a little.

The Doctor smiled rakishly and spun a chair, straddling it with his arms folded over its back. He nudged his briefcase across the table to her.

"I dropped by my house last night to pick up the latest copy of that Astronomy journal I was telling you about," he said. "I've already copied it, so it's yours. There's a fantastic article about the galaxy filament they discovered – Beautiful photographs, too!"

"Thank you!" the woman breathed, eagerly rifling through the case.

"I still can't believe they're making you teach such basic astronomical calculations," the Doctor lamented. "I mean, really, your talents are completely wasted on these kids."

"Well," she sighed. "You flatter me, but what can I do? The idea of wizarding primary school hasn't caught on here. In the meantime, I have to do my best with my independent study students."

"Oh, what I could have showed you if I had the Tardis, still."

"What's a-" Pomona began.

"Don't ask," Septima interrupted. "His explanation leaves much to be desired, and induces headaches after a few seconds."

"Aw," the Doctor frowned. "I'm wounded."

Whatever Professor Vector wanted say was lost beneath a wild, carefree laugh, followed by a very familiar, sour grumble.

"…Really, Sev?" Rose's voice carried through the door. "You've never, not even once…?"

Those seated in the staffroom exchanged interested and slightly bemused glances, save for the Doctor, who seemed as unflappable as ever.

"…I've had more important pursuits than that these past seventeen years," Severus drawled. "One doesn't earn my level of potions mastery by wasting time chasing _romance_."

"There _has_ to be someone," Rose insisted. "I mean, you're not a stone."

The potions master's face flushed as the man recognized the audience waiting for them. He quickly arranged his features into their usual dour expression and nodded absently to them before taking a seat. Rose rolled her eyes but followed him in with a smile, sitting beside the Doctor and pecking him on the cheek.

"Hello, gorgeous. Did you already drop Jen with Harry and the others?"

"Yup," the Doctor affirmed. "Harry and Hermione are probably done with their work, by now."

"I'm still not so sure about letting her fly all over," she sighed, pulling out some of her notes from the week.

The other professors had started to do the same as the clock wound its way toward eleven, but some gave her odd looks at her comment.

"Not to worry, my dear," Flitwick kindly squeaked. "Dear Hagrid takes it upon himself to keep an eye out when classes aren't in session. And, the castle's quite adept at finding ways to keep her children safe."

The mother pursed her lips and rolled her eyes.

"You know, I lived for _years_ in a mad box that was bigger on the inside and could make decisions for itself –"

"_Her_self," the Doctor corrected.

"Fine," Rose snapped. "_Herself_, and I'm still not used to the idea that buildings and whatnot can even have room for those sorts of feelings. I mean, where do they keep their brains?"

Vector blinked and looked between the two in confusion.

"I'm sorry, but what are you two talking about?" she asked incredulously. "I've never heard of any place with quite the magical consciousness as Hogwarts."

"We'll hear if anything happens."

"How's that?" Rose laughed. "Unless…"

Her carefully sculpted brows drew together.

"You didn't," she accused, glaring at him. "Did you?"

The Doctor affected an innocent expression.

"I've not the slightest idea what you're talking about," he said.

His wife sighed.

"I'm just going to let you deal with whatever you did on your own, all right? I'm not digging you out of it."

The others grinned at their spousal antics, but quickly lost their good cheer as the rest of the staff joined them. Minerva, always compassionate behind her stern façade, gave them all a warning grimace as she entered just before they heard Professor Lockhart's voice approaching down the hall, answered every so often by the headmaster's patient, if weary, rumble.

The Doctor plopped his chin in his hand and rolled his eyes.

"I don't know if he's got actual treacle for brains, or if he's got a complex," he stage whispered to Rose. "But if I have to put up with another account of how he did whatever the same month he did six other things half the world over, I think I might let Torchwood have him."

* * *

Upon the sunny grounds, amidst a group of slightly confused watchers (and one very over-excited Gryffindor fanatic) an odd collection of second-years (and one almost six-year-old) gathered around a bed sheet covered in dark blue ink.

Harry and Hermione stood at the centre of the collective; their heads bent close together over a small object of odd proportions while the others engaged in a debate, or, in Hannah and Susan's case, fawned over Jenny Renette. The argument, which had begun just after the Doctor's departure, had continued since he left.

"How can invisible particles make something fly?" grumbled Blaise Zabini.

"Well," said Neville slowly. "Professor Flitwick said the magic behind a hover charm doesn't just make a thing weightless. Maybe it affects the particles in the air, or the thing itself, so it's just lighter than the stuff around it. Like a balloon."

"Ridiculous," echoed Zacharias Smith, who hadn't been invited to stay, but did since no one lacked manners enough to shoo him off.

"This whole thing is idiotic."

"You just don't know anything about science-"

"Like _you _can do anything better than wizards have for centuries. When did muggles come up with this rubbish?"

"Muggles built the pyramids without magic _thousands_ of years ago!"

"Only as far as you know!"

"Well _we _figured out how to go to the moon-"

Although Hannah and Susan seemed mostly unaffected by the argument going on around them, having become used to such loud debates in their last year of school, Jenny (whose only exposure to such loud discourse was with kids of her own age and relative size) shrank further and further away from the young witches and wizards, despite her desire to socialise with the older girls who clearly thought her adorable.

Her brother, who could only half-focus on his actual discussion with Hermione due to the noise, noticed. Although he tried to tune out the argument (because it really was rather run-of-the-mill whenever kids of different backgrounds discussed non-magical vs. magical), his sister's presence and obvious discomfort finally made it so he couldn't order his own thoughts, let alone keep up with Hermione's impressive processing.

"Can everyone just shut it, please?" he finally shouted.

They went quiet, half-surprised that he'd raised his voice.

"How's a bloke to think when everyone's being so negative?" he said more evenly, smiling a little crookedly. "If you're so concerned about which is better, pick a side and start building. You're welcome to use our blueprint."

"But Harry," Hermione said, eyeing the magic supremacists. "How would we measure effectiveness?"

The dark-haired boy ran a hand through his hair and chewed the inside of his cheek a moment, then clapped his hands together.

"Got it! Okay, we need a control anyway, so here's what we'll do. Those of you who want to know, once and for all, if the wizarding method is better: You can't ask any older students for help with the charming, and you've got to be done building by the week before holidays," he said. "I'll happily tell you where I'm ordering my parts and pieces. The Owl Post service will forward your orders to the supplier."

A round of murmurs went through the kids.

"Great. Then everyone who doesn't want to build can be the judges. You can come up with some judging criteria, like a form or something, and rate the final products yourselves."

"And I get to pilot both!" Jenny declared, pushing her way toward her brother.

Harry grinned and winked at her.

"Of course. And we'll have two teachers check for safety first, okay?"

They all agreed, and finally Harry and Hermione got to work. As the onlookers (save Colin Creevey) found other Saturday pursuits, the two managed to finish their measurements and calculations for the oddly shaped metal object – a small engine – and add their findings to their notes for the final design. They then measured Jenny, who had grown increasingly impatient, and called it a day.

With a good portion of the planning for the zeppelin under way, Harry gladly turned off the safety hover-only function (belatedly installed by their parents) on Jenny's broom and straddled his own. They took off into the sky around the lake, and the little girl squealed in glee.

All morning she'd been waiting for this moment. First, her parents had been _dreadfully_ slow waking up, and then they took forever getting dressed. She had dressed immediately after brushing her teeth that morning, promptly at six-thirty. It was nearly seven when her mum and dad _finally_ finished putting their clothes on.

"Now, Jen," her dad had said, crouching to grip her shoulders in the entryway to their small apartment. "You've got to promise me you'll not wander off. Not like my companions promised in all my stories. A real promise. It's really dangerous for you to go off on your own. If your mum or I aren't with you, you've got to stick to Harry. You can't even trust the other grown-ups. Do you understand?"

Jenny nearly whined, but she could tell how serious her dad was, so she nodded and very maturely constructed her answer.

"I promise, Daddy. I understand."

He smiled at her and stood up.

"Now _please_ can we go explore the castle?" she gasped, nearly trembling with excitement.

Rose laughed, tickling her from behind. She plopped a kiss on Jenny's cheek, and her daughter wiped away the moist spot aggressively.

"_Mu-um_," she complained.

"Yes, we can. Betcha can't catch me!"

Rose raced out of the door, her daughter and husband hot on her heels. Jenny and her parents laughed uproariously as they explored Hogwarts that Saturday morning, drawing odd looks from the few people awake already. Jenny couldn't believe it! She'd gotten to see Hogwarts at a distance from their house in Hogsmeade, but seeing it so far away, miniaturized and vague, hadn't prepared her for how wonderful it was up-close, under her feet and around her.

Everywhere she turned something amazing caught her eye. The portraits complained at her, just as cranky at being woken as her mum. The suits of armour squeaked, and the staircases moved unexpectedly underfoot. Her dad took her hand, and though Rose had gotten a head start from their apartment, they somehow beat her to the great hall.

Jenny stared.

The ceiling was _cloudy_. Little wisps of condensed water vapour floated lazily high above their heads, creating swirls in the beautiful, clear blue sky. Someone cleared her throat and Jenny looked down to find a very stern, very tall, thin woman looking down at her.

"Miss Smith, I presume?" she said, her lips somewhat pursed beneath very sharp eyes.

"Y-yes, ma'am," Jenny said, trying to smile. "I'm Renette. It's a pleasure to meet you."

The older woman's lip twitched as she extended her hand. Jenny shook it lightly.

"And I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Smith. Have you come to join us for breakfast?"

Jenny nodded.

"Are there blueberry preserves? Daddy makes toast and eggs every morning," she explained. "But he always forgets to put out jam."

McGonagall put on an exaggerated look of disappointment.

"No jam? What a travesty," she gave the Doctor a playfully stern look. "What sort of father forgets the jam?"

With that, she took Jenny's hand and led her up to the head table, where she conjured a taller-than-normal chair and poured her new friend a large glass of pumpkin juice. The Doctor and Rose sat on her other side, glad, at least, that their daughter seemed to be getting such a warm reception.

Jenny revelled in the breakfast. Though her dad made great bacon and omelettes, she missed fluffy scones with sweet honey-butter and rich, sticky jam. She also enjoyed the attention.

Soon after their arrival in the great hall, students began coming down for breakfast, and though not everyone noticed her at first, soon, everyone was looking up at her and whispering excitedly. She sat straight and tried not to drop anything on herself, and focused most on Harry's house. It took him _forever_ to come down for breakfast, but when he finally did, he gave her a huge grin and a wave. She waved back and finally focused on finishing her scones (much better than toast), which she'd stuffed with jam and extra-crispy bacon.

"So, how's everyone taking the news in Slytherin?" her mum asked when Harry's head-of-house sat on her parents' other side.

The dour, sallow-faced man took a long draught of tea before answering and took his time cutting up his bangers as he spoke in a deep drawl.

"As well as you would expect," he said. "My prefects managed to hold off the inquisition until the second morning, and Mr Tyler answered their questions with reasonable politesse."

Rose refilled Jenny's milk glass and speared a roasted cherry tomato.

"I hear a 'but' somewhere in there."

"Not really – Merely a statement of fact," the potions master commented. "He lies poorly. He is fortunate, indeed, to have such gifts in masking his mind."

Jenny perked up at this, not only because she was taught she should not lie, but also because she knew her brother to be one of the most honest people she'd ever met. Which said quite a lot, because other kids' older brothers and sisters were habitual liars, and mean ones, at that.

" – A gift Mr Tyler would do well to cultivate in your daughter, too, it would seem," Snape added, pinning Jenny with a cool stare. "Especially when she seems so eager to listen to others' conversations."

Jenny shrank in her seat, her cheeks flushing, and Rose slapped Snape's arm lightly.

"Oi, no scaring my kid," she admonished. "And don't worry so much. The Doctor has already taken care of that."

"Why _is_ it you insist on calling him that?" he griped. "You say it as a singularity – _The_ Doctor. Why not use his name?"

Rose sighed and smiled wryly.

"Something about endangering parallel realities. Ask him about it."

Jenny couldn't worry too much about the adults' odd conversation, though, because her father returned then from his visit to the other end of the table to talk with the astronomy professor.

"Done with your breakfast?" he asked, bending to kiss the top of her head.

Snape made some sound of complaint.

"Yes!" Jenny crowed, hopping down from her taller-than-normal chair.

McGonagall chuckled as Jenny half-dragged her dad from the great hall, and the little girl barely heard the older woman heckle Snape.

"What is it? Can't handle a little sweetness in the morning?" she teased.

"…I simply think more decorum would be appropriate. It's slightly sickening."

"Shut up, Sev," Rose laughed. "Suck it up and enjoy life, for once."

* * *

_**Thursday, 19 September 2013**_

As it turned out, everyone seemed even more impressed with Jenny than they had with Harry and his parents put together. It seemed Jenny's age, coupled with her nonchalance in the face of Harry's fame and her parents self-admitted strangeness, further combined with her gender (though Harry and Jenny both denied _that_ had anything to do with it) and her own vivacious personality, led everyone to believe she was destined to be an even better witch than anyone else in her family, simply by virtue of her apparent normalness. Because, how _could_ she be normal with all that nonsense? Obviously, she was even greater than they were because she could hide it. At least, that was everyone's reasoning, as Hermione and Daphne explained it to Harry one afternoon.

She was also an _excellent_ flier, even with her speed controlled by the parental settings installed on her broom.

Harry's friends thought he might be frustrated with all the attention heaped on his sister, but they needn't have worried. Harry nearly strutted with pride for Jenny, and thoroughly enjoyed everyone's easy acceptance of her presence in the castle.

Classes progressed as Harry expected they would, except for in the case of Defence. History was much more exciting (especially with his dad teaching) and it quickly became one of Harry's favourite classes, right with Charms and Transfiguration. Their material was more advanced than the last year, too, and Harry was glad they only spent the first week on revisions of the previous material.

In Transfiguration, they had already started working with larger animals like rats birds. Harry had felt badly about that, at first, until McGonagall explained the creatures weren't harmed by it so long as it was the temporary version of transfiguration they practiced at that level.

"The magic sustains them and, as far as any experiments have shown, they feel very little pain, if any at all," she had said. "We do this because it is the most efficient way to get students accustomed to gauging volume, mass and energy required to successfully transfigure a thing."

The Doctor had been intrigued by that explanation, when Harry brought it up later that week, and it had led to another round of experimentation during his off hours.

Charms was just as interesting as ever, and Harry noticed a lot of the spells they were learning now were more geared to everyday use and possible self-defence: creating flash-bangs, enlarging, shrinking, cleaning, fixing, freezing and unfreezing, drying, and generally improving the fine motor skills necessary to conduct spellwork with any accuracy.

Unfortunately, defence only seemed to get worse.

Although Lockhart seemed happy to ignore Harry's presence in the classroom at first, he seemed to forget his embarrassment in Diagon Alley by the end of the second week. Hermione blushed when the professor quit his position at the front of the class to bodily pull Harry from his chair to join him in miming out his daring defeat of some creature or another.

Harry was so surprised that he couldn't protest before he was in a headlock – a very convincing and slightly painful one.

"Put up some fight, Harry! You're a werewolf, not a kitten."

Kilat, curled in the pouch at Harry's throat, hissed her displeasure.

"_What is this human doing?"_ she complained, as her comfy resting spot was jostled.

Nearly everyone was laughing. While he knew Draco, Blaise, Daphne and Tracy were enjoying the spectacle because they knew how much he hated their so-called professor, Harry knew the other Slytherins were amused for different reasons.

He didn't have many options, despite how humiliating it felt to be at Lockhart's physical mercy. If he tried to put the professor in his place, again, it could backfire: There were a lot of admirers in the room. Many of the girls were positively misty-eyed in the professor's presence. Beet red, Harry came to the conclusion he would have to ride it out, and reassert himself by more subtle methods.

So he allowed Lockhart to wrestle him to the floor and mime an immobilising charm at him, which led the professor to the practical portion of that day's class.

"Now of course," he said as Harry dusted himself off. "We won't be practicing those charms on anything as dangerous as a werewolf. However, there'd be little point in preparing for our self defence if our foes weren't at least a little challenging."

He leaned forward on his podium and dropped his voice into a lower, almost forbidding murmur.

"Indeed, you will face all manner of creatures in this class. Some, I'm sure, may be too much for you to handle. But do not fear. No harm shall come to you while I'm here."

And with that, Lockhart pulled a large, square cage from the compartment in the wide, deep podium and set it on the table nearby. The cloth covering it fluttered, and the metal rattled. Something that sounded quite a lot like budgies – Harry could have sworn he'd heard that sound before – emanated from behind the cloth.

"I ask you not to scream," Lockhart added. "It could provoke them!"

With that, he whipped the cloth away, revealing fifty very angry electric-blue pixies. They had large, shining black eyes, black mouths filled with sharp teeth, and dragonfly-like wings jutting from their bony backs. Each was no taller than a man's hand-span, and nearly all of them beat and rattled against the cage's bars.

"Pixies?" Theodore Nott said incredulously. "We're going to be fighting pixies?"

The professor scoffed.

"Only if you let them put up a fight. Remember, the immobilising charm. Of course, they can be extremely tricky little devils if you let them."

Hermione raised her hand, her face halfway between admiration and confusion.

"Professor? Do you mean we're to…"

Lockhart granted her a crooked smile.

"Get them back in the cage, yes. I'm sure you'll have no problem, Miss Granger," he reassured her.

Hermione blushed.

"Let's see what the rest of you make of them!"

As soon as the professor raised the catch on the cage, the pixies shot out like so many rockets to zip across the room at impressive and destructive speed. Books, glass, chairs, wands – anything small enough for their evil little hands to grab were thrown through the air. The children screamed, ducking under desks to avoid the chaos raining down on them. Crabbe screamed as four especially industrious pixies lifted him by the ears to hang him from the dragon skeleton's lower teeth.

"Come now! They're only pixies!" Lockhart admonished, brandishing his wand. "_Peskipiksi Pesternomi!_" he shouted.

But he was overzealous, and his wand flew out a broken window at the end of his exaggerated flourish.

"_He's afraid,"_ Kilat hissed, her tiny head poking out of the collar of Harry's shirt.

Harry tried not to laugh. He couldn't have asked for a better turnaround.

"Don't worry professor!" he shouted over the screaming. "I'll handle it."

And he did.

He breathed deeply in, feeling the magic tingling across his skin as he raised his wand. The pixies seemed to sense his intention and began circling overhead, swarming just as he shouted –

"_Immobilous!_"

Nearly all of them dropped from the air, their eyes wide with rage, their bodies temporarily frozen. Hermione ducked out from under her desk and quickly scooped up an armful of the stiff little bodies to stuff them unceremoniously back in their cage. The others caught on quickly, and the last few remaining pixies soon found themselves cornered and immobilised by the other students. When it was finally done, everyone breathed a sigh of relief while they took stock of the damage. Crabbe still shouted down at them from his place, hanging from the jaws of the dragon remains. The room stood in tatters. Nearly all the glass was broken, and most of the paper goods were destroyed. Inkpots lay smashed, their contents splattering skin, clothes, and shoes.

"Good one, chap," Draco commented, slapping Harry on the shoulder. "Quick thinking."

"Glad someone was thinking, at all," Daphne added, smirking a little.

Harry tried not to grin. She saw through him, of course.

"Very good, Harry, my boy!" Lockhart finally crowed. "Exactly as I showed you! Ten points for Slytherin."

The Slytherins gamefully broke into light applause at their professor's lead. The rest of the class stared at him incredulously. Well, save for his admirers who had already gotten over the state of their clothes and things.

"And let this be a lesson to you all," Lockhart finally said, once the room had been put to rights. "Never underestimate your enemies, and always be quick on your feet."

The bell finally rang, and Harry thought that would be the end of it. Surely, Lockhart wouldn't want to let a student steal the show again. Surely, he'd leave Harry alone.

If only the man were that selfish.

No.

It seemed Harry's apparently willing participation in the professor's demonstration indicated consent to star in _all_ of them. While there were no more practical classes (at least, not since the pixie disaster) Harry found himself playing a number of roles as Lockhart's stooge or half-witted sidekick. Whatever respect he'd earned himself for subduing the pixies was lost almost immediately because, no matter the role, he'd end up very embarrassingly outwitted in all of Lockhart's lessons. By the end of the third week, he was seriously considering skiving off for the rest of the term.

"But you _can't_," Hermione insisted. "Attendance is mandatory through fifth year, and even then you only get so many free days before you get detention."

"Yeah?" Harry snapped. "Because I'd rather swallow half of Snape's mystery jars than spend another lesson on my back before the conquering duffer!"

"That sounds dirty," Blaise laughed. "I'm _sure_ you didn't mean it that way."

"Shut it, you," Harry griped, shoving his shoulder.

Before his friends could say anything else embarrassing or frustrating, he rushed ahead to slip between Daphne and Tracy, who walked a few feet ahead of them on the way to the quidditch pitch.

Slytherin house quidditch trials would be starting in half an hour, and Harry really wanted to let off some steam before he tried to play nice with his housemates while they did their best to knock him out of the air. The others separated off to get seats in the stands, and Harry went on to the Slytherins' den on the south end of the pitch.

Draco had beaten him to the changing rooms, as Harry had expected, but rather than taking advantage of the empty pitch, the blonde just sat on a bench with a half-unwrapped parcel on his knees. His face was crumpled, and his usually well-kept hair stuck up in a few places, like Draco had been pulling on it.

Harry allowed the boy his space, methodically changing into his practice kit and gear, before settling beside his mate with his broomstick over his shoulder.

"New broom?" he asked, eyeing the sleek black handle.

A shining plate tacked to the neck read _Nimbus 2001_. It was the newest model, an upgrade to Harry's own excellent racing broom.

"One of seven, I expect," Draco said dully. "I'm sure Snape's gotten the others by now and passed them on to Montague."

Harry shrugged.

"You never felt bad about using what you had to get what you wanted before now," he said lightly. "Why so glum?"

"The note."

Draco held up a slip of high quality, hand-pressed stationery embossed with the Malfoy family crest. Harry took it uneasily and read the few lines quickly.

_Draco,_

_Your mother and I wish you the best in today's trials. I'm sure you'll do admirably. As always, watch and listen. I expect you'll witness some excitement fairly soon. I await word of your placement on the team._

_-Your Father_

"Has he said anything else about it?" Harry asked quietly, folding the note and passing it back to Draco.

"No. But I feel sick. What can we do?"

Harry grimaced and slapped Draco's back.

"Nothing, right now. How are you supposed to beat me if you're moping like that?" he demanded. "We've already told mum and dad, and they've probably told Dumbledore, already. We can't do anything else, except wait."

"I'm sorry about Dobby," Draco sighed. "I wish I could do more."

He had attempted to call the elf to them at the end of their conversation, that first night in the castle. He hadn't come, much to everyone's disappointment, and Draco's confusion. They still weren't sure why.

"Try not to worry," Harry reassured him. "My dad's dealt with much worse than wizards, before."

"Worse than death eaters?" Draco scoffed, shouldering his new broom.

"Ever heard of Daleks?"

The blonde blinked.

"No. What the hell are those?"

"Kind of like death eaters," Harry explained. "Except, they don't age, really, and they're really, _really_ hard to stop. They can shoot A-K's without a wand, and fly, and see through walls and stuff. And there were millions. Non-mags know all about them. Well, all the ones in government do."

Draco's pale brows rose half way up his forehead.

"What happened to them, if they were that horrible?"

"Dad," Harry said simply.

Draco blinked, then grinned, and followed Harry out into the sunshine.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for taking the time to read and review! Next chapter will be up by this time, next month, at the latest. Love, Forensica X


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